#him being forced to live with what remains of his body under his abuser's watch is just as bad as shigaraki and toga dying

[haine-kleine]

a bit disheartening seeing so many people talk about Touya getting a better ending that Shigaraki and Toga because... he really didn't.

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎSerendipitous (Part Three)౨ৎ꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: forced lack of eating, body image issues, verbal abuse, physical abuse, cheating pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: stuck in an arranged betrothal, you think you'll forever be trapped until you meet billy and your world is flipped upside down (part three) author’s note: thank you thank you for all the love on this series, I hope you enjoy the last part! <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist (chapter starting at My Love Will Never Die)

Secrets are a curse between two people. Once they are known they either bring them together or tear them apart. You and Billy were now closer than ever.

The cabin became your sanctuary, and you escaped to it as often as you could, when you weren't under the watchful eye of those who'd raised you, or your husband-to-be.

Billy's arms were your happy place, and he happily opened them to you whenever you needed. He kissed your worries away, talking enthusiastically of the future. Of how you'd run away together, how you'd get a little place just like this one somewhere far off. You lived in those daydreams when you weren't with him, seeing for the first time ever a future you wanted to be a part of.

The good thing about Billy knowing was that you didn't have to be so on edge all the time. He shouldered the burden with you, gave you some much-needed relief. In time, he coaxed more out of you, about life in Atlanta and the reason your parents had pushed this marriage on you.

"Ain't nobody should be blamin' ya for wantin' to pick the best ya could," he assured you, tracing your cheek as you lay bare by the fireplace sandwiched between blankets and cocooned against him. You nuzzled your cheek against his bare chest so you could feel his heartbeat. "Society rules 'n all...they hardly have a place out here."

"That's why I love it so much," you smiled, and he returned it in a lazy, blissful way.

"That's the only reason ya love it?" he teased, his fingers scratching your arm gently in a soothing motion.

Pretending to think about it, you snuggled impossibly closer. "Maybe there's a couple others."

He dropped his lips to the part in your hair, inhaling your scent softly. "Lucky, lucky man I am."

"You're holding a girl who's engaged to someone else," you mumbled, looking up at him. "Doesn't sound so lucky."

"Ah, you're worth all 'f it," he stopped his scratching and used the same hand to tuck your hair behind your ear. "Any man'd do the same for the sweetest girl in the West."

You let him have that, smiling softly. Billy didn't know he was one of a kind. Having exhausted the resources in most of Atlanta society, you would know. He was special, he brought you back to life. In secret, he reignited the flame you had thought diminished.

But even Billy couldn't erase the turbulence of your family and fiancé, as much as he wanted to.

One day as you were getting dressed, being laced into your corset for the day by one of the maids, your mother poked her head in, looking over you like one would a specimen. She dismissed the maid and started to pull at the strings herself, making your body jolt. Her tactics were more aggressive.

"You've gained nearly an inch," she commented, and you lowered your eyes to the floor.

"I can get it off," you promised, and a scoff was heard from behind you.

"Indeed you will," your mother said distractedly, and you felt the corset tighten around you. "In fact, I think it best if we put you on a restricted diet until the wedding."

You turned to look at her. "What-"

"You want to be able to fit into your wedding dress," she said firmly, and you looked back at the wall so she wouldn't see you clench your jaw. "Honestly, I'm not always going to be around to do everything for you. After you're married it will be your job to remain an acceptable weight for your husband."

It stung. Everything she was saying hit your chest like rain in a thunderstorm hit the roof. But you were an obedient daughter. And you didn't want to make her angry. So reluctantly, you nodded and said in a small voice, "Yes, mother."

"Very good." She tied the knot on your corset and reached for your dress, helping you step into it. You felt numb as she buttoned the back.

Going down for breakfast, you sat at the table and reached for a slice of bread. But then you remembered her words and slowly pulled your hand back, folding it over your other one in your lap. She was watching. Your mother nodded approvingly.

The frustration you felt was awful. Why should you have to do something so demeaning for such an awful man, who in all honesty would hardly notice? But now you were looking at yourself in the mirror through your mother's eyes, pinching the side of your waist and wishing you could cut it off.

Even when you were with Billy you were more hesitant to sit on his lap or lie on top of him, the internal voices telling you that you were too heavy. Sometimes he would bring a little something to the cabin to eat, and you'd nibble at it delicately, letting him have most of it.

Because it was Billy though, after the first couple of times he noticed. "Everythin' okay, sweet?"

You looked up from where you'd been staring at the floor, lost in thought. Remembering where you were, you smiled unassumingly. "Yes."

"You've hardly eaten anything, sunshine, ya seem a little down," he said concernedly, brushing his hand over your cheek. "Ya feelin' alright?"

"I'm okay," you reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Really."

Billy didn't look convinced, but he knew not to push it, so instead he reached out for you. "C'mere."

You hesitated, thoughts of your weight at the forefront of your mind. So instead of going to his lap like you normally would have, you sat by him, still close.

He frowned, tugging on your waist. "Baby, ya missed."

Pursing your lips, you shook your head, drawing your knees to your chest. "No, I'm okay here."

The resignation in your tone was clear, and Billy settled a hand on your thigh, rubbing up and down. "Whatsa matter, honey?"

You looked up at him, at how concerned he was for you. One look into his blues and it all came pouring out of you. The diet, your mother's comments, your eating habits...everything.

When you finished, Billy was quiet for a moment. Then he cooed, reaching for you. "Baby...you come sit on m' lap. You ain't too heavy 'n ya never will be."

He held you there, your bottom on his thigh and your legs across his knees, nestled between them. Pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your ear, he murmured, "Don't give any 'f it a thought. You're so perfect. Pretty as a peach, thought so from the first time I saw ya."

Oh, he always knew exactly what to say. Every minute he was with you made everything all better. Billy wrapped his arms around your waist, under your arms, one hand reaching up to rest on your heart. You leaned back into him and quelled every thought about your body, letting it be buried in the bundle of love he had you wrapped in.

"Can't do much for when you're not with me," he kissed your cheek, letting his lips linger there. "But when you are, I'll have ya eatin'." Billy lifted a slice of one of the apples he'd brought to your lips expectantly. Obediently, you opened your mouth and he fed it to you. "Atta girl."

Every day he uncovered some previously unseen facet of him that made you love him more. And could hardly do anything more than love him, love him with all your heart, love him like you'd never loved anything else. It wasn't give and take. It wasn't one sided. It was golden, pure and hope-filled, all encapsulated by this spot in his arms.

Your mother had insisted on a visit with Henry, and you hadn’t had the energy to protest.

Because she was apparently the expert on all things high society men, she told you to pay him a visit at his office. He would be so happy to see you, she’d said. Especially if you went with a smile.

So, biting the bullet, you allowed yourself to be trussed up like a prized calf and sent on your way, a tight smile plastered on your face as if by glue.

You looked at the tall building with dread. It nearly seemed to loom tantalizingly over you. Henry worked on the second floor, you’d been told (by him, numerous times). Gathering both your skirts and your courage, you made your way up the steps and opened the door.

A friendly woman directed you to the exact location of Henry’s office, and you took deep breaths all the way there. The outcome of the visit depended entirely on what kind of mood he was in. You prayed he’d had a good work day.

It was a unique gift he had, how he could make any door he was behind seem intimidating. You paused and stared at it, gritting your teeth. It’s only an hour, it’s only an hour.

Wishing on every eyebrow hair, star, and eyelash, you grasped the handle and pushed the door open. The sight behind it caused your eyes to go as round as the center of a daisy.

Henry was there, yes, but he was with a woman of unknown identity, who was sitting on his desk with half her dress unbuttoned and pushed down around her waist. Your fiancé was kissing her sloppily, his hands pushing her skirt up to her thighs, exposing the end of her stocking.

Involuntarily, you let out a gasp, your hand flying to your heart. Henry’s head whipped around, and you were almost pleased at his shock, at the slight look of guilt.

Before he could say anything, you turned right on your heel, shutting the door firmly behind you and walking briskly out. Maybe you should have felt bad. Threatened, angry, jealous, even. But instead you felt joyful.

Finally you had an out. You had a real, legitimate reason to leave him and call off the engagement. In high society abuse was (regrettably) tolerated, but infidelity was an entirely different thing.

Inappropriately giddy, you skipped out to your horse, and as you rode home the world seemed brighter. The sun was warm, the grass was green…it was so rare for you to feel this way when you weren’t with Billy.

Oh Billy! You were so excited to tell him, to hold his hands and say sincerely that it was over. You didn’t have to kiss behind closed doors anymore. A torrential stream of daydreams flooded your mind, ranging from running away to getting married, but this time to a man you loved.

You left your horse in the stables, bounding up the steps and immediately facing your mother in the drawing room.

She set aside her sewing and stood, looking puzzled. “What are you doing back so soon?”

Unable to help your elation, you gushed, “I caught Henry with another woman.”

Your mother didn’t seem put off by your tone. “You did?”

Gathering yourself up, you said, “I won’t marry him.”

Striding over to you, looking around for listening ears, your mother grabbed your arm and said in a harsh whisper, “What are you talking about? Of course you’re going to marry him.”

All your hopes and dreams were swept off the table, shattering into a million shiny pieces at your feet. Your heart sank like a rock to the bottom of the river. “What?”

Looking around suspiciously still, your mother pulled you further into the room and shut the door. When she turned back around to face you, her expression was nearly furious.

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but whatever it is…” she paused, looking you up and down. “It doesn’t matter. If he wants to continue the engagement, you will go through with it.”

The energy you’d accumulated from catching your fiancé wasn’t diminished like it normally would have been. There was a fire inside you that could not be quelled. “Over the last few months, he has treated me in some of the worst ways anyone could treat someone. I don’t love him, and I don’t want to marry him. You cannot force me down that aisle.”

Your mother took you by the arms and forced you to sit on the couch, stiffly sitting by you. She folded her hands in her lap primly, but the cold look on her face was hardly ladylike. “We’re nearly out of money.”

A cold wave of shock washed over you. “What do you mean?”

“Your father insisted on coddling you by keeping you in the dark but I cannot stand it any longer,” she said sharply. “Do you really think we left Atlanta with you for the fun of it? That we wouldn’t have sent you off on a train with Mr. Merritt so you were someone else’s problem if we could?”

It was a slap in the face if there ever was one. You could only stare at her.

Your mother continued with only a slightly softened tone. “Mr. Merritt possesses a sizable fortune. And with a marriage your father would gain advantages in the business he’s invested in. But only if you marry. If you end it, we will be ruined.”

Shame warred your inner instincts. You wanted to scream at the fact that you’d been only a pawn this entire time. And cry because of the obligation you felt to your family. Of course you didn’t want them to be left desolate. Your kind heart and seemingly permanently guilty mindset won out. Because it always did. Still, you tried to fight it, tears welling up precariously. “Please. I’ll be miserable if I have to spend the rest of my life with him.”

The emotion in your words did not sway her. “And what do you think will make you happy? That cowboy who likes to sneak around the property?”

You paled as she mentioned Billy, opening your mouth to try and diffuse the situation, but she merely shook her head, leaving you silent. Even the sight of her disappointment was enough to send you spiraling, a tactic she’d used since you were a child.

“What kind of life could that man, an outlaw-“ she said the word like it was dirty. “-possibly give you? Mr. Merritt offers stability. Comfort. If he’s stepping out, you can either live with it or try harder, since you clearly aren’t satisfying him.” Your mother set an uncomfortable hand on one of yours. “Be smart for once, and do the right thing. Or you will be responsible for our misery.”

The irony of that statement was not lost on you as she promptly stood and left, the door slamming behind her.

It’d been days and you’d hardly stopped crying.

Maybe your cheeks would never cease to be rosy, your eyes would never be dry again. Here in the cabin that was once your haven, you stood up straight with your arms folded and your eyes trained on the cold fireplace. The ash was akin to how you felt- once burning bright, now strewn about.

When the door opened behind you, you didn’t turn around. Nor did you when Billy’s arms slid around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. He must’ve taken his hat off, because it wasn’t nudging against your head.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he murmured, turning his head slightly to peck your cheek. When he caught sight of your reddened eyes and somber expression, he turned you around gently and pushed your face to his shoulder. “Baby…”

“I can’t see you anymore,” you breathed, feeling another wave of tears coming on.

Billy shook his head, his nose in your hair, hand softly stroking the back of your head. “What for?”

“I have to marry Henry-“ you started, and he pressed his lips to your head, cutting you off.

“You ain’t marryin’ that bastard,” he murmured, rubbing your back. “You don’t gotta be with me, but no way in hell are ya gonna be with him.”

“I want to be with you,” you pulled back, looking up at him. He had a bittersweet look in his eye, like he’d seen this coming. “But I have to marry him. My family…they…” His azure eyes reminded you of the seaside when you were little, deep, comforting pools you wanted to drown in.

Thumbing your cheek, Billy shook his head. “What’s your family done for you that you gotta keep givin’? That you gotta stay with someone who hurts you?”

Your lips parted to respond, but you found you didn’t know what to say. Although they were family, they had manipulated, scorned, and starved you; both of food and attention. All you could manage was, “I owe them everything. They took care of me.”

“That’s just what family’s s’posed to do,” Billy tucked some of your hair behind your ear, smoothing it back and continually running his fingers through it. “Ain’t somethin’ to repay.”

A single tear slipped from your eye. “They’ll be ruined if I don’t. I can’t leave them desolate.”

“‘S not your burden.” Billy pulled you back in so you were snug against his chest. “You didn’t get ‘em into this, and you don’t gotta get ‘em out.”

“Billy-“ A slight sob cut you off, and you slumped against him, his arms the comfort you had always known them to be.

He was the softest thing in the world at that moment because he loved you, really loved you like nobody else had. You could have sunk into him, buried yourself deep into his depths until the sun burnt out.

But the cold, nagging feeling inside you had other plans.

It was like tearing two magnets apart, the way you drew back from him. You took a heavy step back, taking one last look at him with teary eyes. And then, with a whispered goodbye, you left, disappearing into the cold dark world without any promise of coming back to the light.

Somehow more tragic than losing someone to death is losing someone who still exists in the world, because there will always be that possibility. The what-if. A chasm of regret.

In the next few weeks, it swallowed you, tore you into pieces and put you back together, even though you begged it not to, because then the hurt would only restart.

Henry had come to your door with false apologies and promises, talking in circles in a way that told you he was lying. You supposed you should have been happy he wasn't hitting you.

It felt as though you were standing still, letting things happen to you as time marched on. Your mother was disturbingly cheery, dragging you through the wedding plans, saying things you didn't want to hear and chiding you playfully when you showed little enthusiasm.

"A woman only gets one wedding, you know!" she said enthusiastically as you sat at the dinner table one night, nothing on your plate. She was holding a paper with the guest list, writing and crossing out names.

Your stomach growled softly.

Billy was in the shadows and corners of your life, as a ghost and sometimes not. You would see him across town sometimes as your mother took you shopping. He never said anything, never approached you, just watched silently.

One day as your mother was in the post office arguing for a better arrival time for invitations, he did come to you, removing his hat as he stood quietly leaning on the wall with you.

"Hey," he said softly, looking over you concernedly,

You didn't turn to face him. "Hey."

Always in tune with you, he must have known you didn't want to talk. Instead of asking how you were, a fact obvious to the human eye, he took one of your hands, lifting it and gently pressing something hard and round into it. When you looked down, you saw a shiny red apple, juicy and firm.

Looking up at Billy, your eyes widened slightly, your lips parting. "I-"

"Don't gotta say anythin', sunshine," he promised, taking your other hand and closing it over the apple. Lifting one hand, he traced your cheekbone, the thinning, pale lines of your face. Then his eyes wandered to the way your dress seemed to big for your frame, your bony arms. "Just take it, alright?"

You could hear your mother's shrill voice getting closer to the door. Nodding, you slipped the apple into the discreet pocket of your dress, and Billy squeezed your hand once before he left, disappearing around the corner.

Later in secret, you ate the apple gratefully, savoring every bite. He still cared about you. Even after you'd hurt him, left him. All the love you'd been trying to suppress came rushing back full-fledged. And now you were looking back at that night at the cabin, wishing you had done everything completely differently.

He probably would have run away with you, you realized one night before closing your eyes to fall asleep. The last thought you had was one of hope. Maybe you could fix it. Your family be damned.

The next morning a renewed spirit ignited in you. Maybe if you could find him, confess your loneliness without him, the bright and shiny love you still possessed...you didn't want to get your hopes up, but the possibilities set your heart aflame.

Henry was there when you got downstairs, and he turned around, smiling pleasantly when you walked into the drawing room. Perfect.

"I need to tell you something," you said determinedly, striding toward him.

"So do I." Henry caught you by the arms. "You need to pack your things. We're leaving."

Your mind went blank. What did he mean, leaving? "Leaving."

"That's right." His hair was a little messy, his smile borderline manic. "We're going to go somewhere else and get married when we arrive."

"Wait, slow down," you shook your head, sure you'd misheard him. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you remember the young lady you...ah...caught me with?" he said in a whisper, eyes darting to the side suspiciously. "Her husband knows. He's got it out for me. So, we need to leave as soon as possible."

"What about my parents?" you asked, looking back at the door worriedly. He turned your chin to face him again and you sucked in a breath at the violation.

"They won't be told. Your father will take over my position and they'll be fine," he pulled on your hand. "Go upstairs and start packing. We'll be travelling light."

You pulled your hands back, casting your eyes to the side as you thought. If Henry was leaving and your father and mother would be taken care of... this time, there was truly nothing holding you back. No guilt or loose ends or anything left behind.

And now that you had a chance at freedom, there was only one person you were running to.

Slowly realizing this, you lifted your head to meet his eyes, your face changing. "No." Your voice was light, and you said the word as a realization.

Henry stared at you. "What do you mean, no?"

"No." You said it firmly this time, straightening up as you looked at him. "I...am not going anywhere with you."

"You're my fiancé-"

"And you've been awful to me," you continued, a new, unfamiliar determination taking over. Lifting your chin, you couldn't seem to stop the words from pouring out. "You hit me, you cheated on me. And now you're asking me to run away with you like nothing ever happened." Shaking your head, you turned, moving to walk away. "We're finished."

White hot pain blinded you, manifesting in a sting on your face. Your knees buckled, and the floor was not a forgiving landing space. As your brain registered what had happened, you waited for the flood of lament, the remorse for having pushed him this far. But it never came.

Henry grabbed you by the arms and pulled you up, sending you stumbling back. He shook you, his expression murderous. "You should be grateful I put up with you after all the grief you've given me."

Looking you over, he exhaled once through his nose, and you were reminded of a bull about to charge. He could have been thinking about killing you in that moment, and you would have no idea.

And that thought, that he could kill you, was viable in that moment. For a second you were sure he would. That he would beat you bloody until your own family wouldn't be able to recognize your mangled corpse.

Instead, he pulled you by the arm outside, barking an order to get on his horse. Your body moved without thinking, and before you knew it you were riding, hanging onto him for dear life.

Would he kill you somewhere remote? Where they wouldn't find your body?

Henry took you all the way to town, getting off the horse in front of the local bank. He gave you a firm glare, and you knew it was a silent order to stay there. You got off the horse, petting its mane and trying to calm yourself. He wasn't going to let you go back home. By all counts, he was kidnapping you, forcing you to go heaven knows where. Hot tears blinded your vision, and you couldn't help but let one slip. Maybe you were entitled to it.

There was a hand on your shoulder, and you jumped, eyes wide as you turned around.

Billy held up his hands in a show of peace, looking surprised. "Woah, sunshine, it's just me." He squinted at you, and you knew he'd noticed your tear. "Hey...'r ya-"

He was cut off by you barreling into him, body smashing against his, arms around his middle, face burrowed in his chest. Your chest heaved with panicked breaths, and you breathed in his scent, wishing you could meld yourself into him.

"Hey...hey, baby, whatsa matter?" Billy asked worriedly, smoothing your hair and trying to calm you down. "Easy, sweetheart. Easy. Breathe f' me, yeah? You're safe with me, I've gotcha. I've gotcha."

Your breaths slowed down as you held onto him. He pulled you into a spot under the shade of a building, getting you out of the sun. "I've got you, sweet." Billy looked at you sadly when you lifted your head, his hand finding what must have been a patch of redness on your cheek. His fingers were cool against the injury, and you leaned into it. "Oh my baby. Who'd ever hurt my sweet baby?"

There were footsteps to the side, and you lifted your head frantically, seeing Henry walk out of the bank and look around for you. Billy followed your gaze and his face hardened.

Not wasting a second, he took his hat off his head and shoved it onto yours, pulling you into a nearby alley. He leaned sideways against the wall, so he was blocking any passerby's view of you. Once you were there, right up against him, he whispered, "What's goin' on? Ya look scared half to death."

Body nearly shaking, you looked up into his eyes. Seaside. "Henry's leaving town. There's someone threatening him. And he's...he's making me come with him."

He looked shocked, shaking his head. "No... no no no, you're not leavin'. He's not takin' ya anywhere."

"Once I knew he was leaving I wanted to come to you," you said brokenly, tears forming rivers on your skin. "My parents are taken care of. There wouldn't be anything...it was selfish of me to think you'd still want me after I-"

Billy pulled you in, knocking his hat up on your head so he could kiss your forehead. "Don't think I'd ever stop wantin' ya. You've ruined me for anyone else, my love. That ain't the point." He looked at you, nodding and urging you to continue.

"He didn't like when I said I wasn't coming," you said softly, closing your eyes and leaning your face fully into his hand. "We rode out here, and he just went inside for a minute. He's probably looking for me, I should-"

"If ya think I'm lettin' ya go anywhere with him..." Billy's fingers stroked the afflicted area of your cheek. "...you've got another thing comin'."

Looking up at him, seeing how sincere he was, how intent he would be on protecting you...it made your eyes well up for another reason entirely. You buried your face into his chest again, holding on tight to him. He held you close, and you knew he wouldn't let go until you started to.

Someone cleared their throat, and you jolted, looking up. To your horror, Henry was standing there, glaring at the pair of you.

Billy turned, and his eyes narrowed when he saw who it was. He pushed you gently behind him, keeping one of his hands clasped in yours. "Can I help ya?"

"You can hand my fiancée back." Henry's words were threatening, but they didn't seem as scary with Billy in front of you.

He stood tall and firm. "I don't think so."

Henry laughed in a chilling way. "I see. You think you've got her, Kid? We're engaged. Bet she didn't tell you that."

"I'm fully aware," Billy said unwaveringly. "Believe me, I know everything."

That seemed to take the wind out of Henry's sails just slightly, and he moved forward as if to physically hurt Billy. But your man remained solid, standing and staring him down.

For all of Henry's talk, you knew there wasn't any was he wasn't at least a little afraid of Billy. The fastest draw in the West, a famed outlaw. your ex-fiancé didn't stand a chance against him.

Scoffing, Henry took a tiny step back. "You'd really go this far for her? She's nothing but a-"

In an instant, Billy had him against the wall, holding him by his shirt, his face right up close. "You don't wanna finish that." His voice was low and dangerously calm.

You almost felt bad for relishing Henry's visible fear. He was so used to being at the top of the food chain, and Billy had knocked him down to the bottom. Henry's eyes were wide, and he looked at you, as if you'd help him. "You won't let him hurt me...you..."

The dead look in your eyes stopped him from saying the rest.

Billy turned to look at you, and his eyes softened. He gave you a look, and you knew right then that he would do anything you wanted. This was the face of a man who would kill for you. The power that gave you was scary.

Turning your eyes to Henry, you saw how pathetic he was, how vulnerable. Now he felt how he'd made you feel every day since that first morning in the drawing room in Atlanta.

And that was enough for you.

You focused back on Billy, shaking your head just slightly. In his eyes it was clear he wanted to do more, wanted to make him pay for everything he'd done to you, everything he'd done to everyone. But he didn't, and it was a testament to how much he loved you.

Shoving Henry to the ground and letting go of him, Billy spat, "You're not even fit to look at 'er." Leaving him crumpled at his boots, Billy went to you, his hands finding your shoulders as he looked you over. "You okay? All good?" He waited until you nodded before pulling you into his arms.

For a moment, you were more than content. Billy had you safe, and he was going to keep you safe. But when you looked up, you saw Henry getting to his feet shakily, reaching his hand inside his jacket and pulling out something silver, pointing toward the two of you.

Your eyes widened. "Billy-!"

He was a step ahead, whipping around, pistol in hand. A shot echoed in the alleyway, and for a second, you weren't sure whose it was.

But then Billy was turning back to you, gun already tucked back against his hip. He looked over every inch of you, tucking your hair behind your ears and gently pressing one of his big hands to your head, settling the hat more firmly against your head. Now both hands were settled behind your head, holding you with his palms over your hair.

His body was blocking Henry's, and you knew he was trying to shield you. So, you let him. You looked up into his eyes, feeling the last tendrils of the engagement crumble from around you. He nudged his nose against yours. "M' brave girl..." he whispered. "Nobody's gonna hurt ya no more."

When he pulled you into his chest again, your belief in the statement multiplied tenfold.

You and Billy had left town by the time the sun rose on the next day. It felt metaphorical, the way you snuck back into your home to gather a few things, tiptoeing past your parents' rooms and taking a horse from the stables, riding side by side with your man over the hills and out of sight.

You never saw Henry's arrest. Never saw the judge proclaim him "unworthy of even a wink of decency".

You never saw your father regain his status as a businessman. He and your mother made the journey back to Atlanta, where he operated remotely, building his success back up.

You never saw anybody from your old life again,

Turning over in bed, you lazily looked up at Billy, snuggling up against his chest as sunlight spilled through the curtains, creating a warm patch on the sheets. You treasured every morning you got with him, remembering that first one where you'd left in such a hurry. You never had to do that again.

Billy nosed against your cheek, peppering gentle kisses over it. Oh, the way he looked at you. Eyes sleepy, smile bright even in the early hours, his arms tightened around you. He muttered against his skin, "I don't think I even know how much I love you."

Rubbing his chest contently, you sighed softly. Your smile seemed permanent these days. "My love."

"My sunshine." He pulled you so you were resting directly on top of him, his eyes warm as you folded your arms on his chest, your chin resting there.

Your liberty was his gift to you, and you chose to spend it on him. Billy took your heart and showed you how it beat.

"Every time," you breathed, and his lips brushed yours, his hand tangling in your hair. "I would choose you every time."

Previous Part

[11queensupreme11]

While I was reading your old posts another idea for an AU came to mind, this is a pretty dark be brave and read this

The Soul Swap/Possession AU:

In a previous post someone gave the idea of ​​Percy dying in the pjo world and having his soul stolen from the underworld by suitors

Percy returned to her world, and during a battle she was hit violently in the back and died, the suitors watched this in pure agony without being able to interfere, when they managed to open a portal to invade the pjo world it was already too late and Percy's soul had already been sent to the underworld

Not accepting this ending, the suitors invade the underworld and steal Percy's soul and take it back to the ror universe.

First they meet in a council to decide how they will proceed, all the gods are very upset and worried about Percy, his body was completely destroyed and all that remains was his soul, everyone is giving ideas on what to do until that at some point a "God" proposes the best solution

What if they create a new child body and put Percy's soul in it? Getting someone pregnant to give Percy a new life seems like a great idea never mind that the idea of ​​forcing someone to get pregnant or ripping a baby's soul out of their body to give to someone else is beyond cruel and unethical

They make a selection of the female ,goddesses and nymphs, who are most physically similar to Percy.

They choose a candidate and after much, much MORE EFFORT, Poseidon manages to convince his “little friend” to toughen up ALL for his beloved Percy, he manages to get the candidate pregnant or maybe simply pour it into a small pot and Beelzebub takes the seed with a medical syringe and presents it to the candidate so that he does not have to commit "adultery"

Well, after the pregnancy is confirmed, tests and experiments begin on the candidate, Beelzebub begins to do all kinds of experiments and modifications on the fetus to ensure that the baby is a girl and that she has a physical appearance identical to Percy Adriana Lima

No one cares about the happiness or consent of the chosen candidate gods know what consent is? They only care about the health and appearance of the child not because they care or love the child, they just need the child to be viable as a vessel for Percy's soul

For nine months the chosen candidate undergoes several experiments and tests unlike the scenario where Beelzebub tests his own children within Percy, here he doesn't care about the candidate so causing her pain or discomfort makes no difference to him, poor woman, when she is not suffering in Beelzebub's laboratory she is having the healthiest pregnancy possible as she is constantly under the care of the Gods of medicine of all pantheons

she also spends her entire pregnancy suffering psychological abuse because she knows that as soon as her baby is born he will be killed perhaps she will also be killed since she will no longer be useful she knows that absolutely no one cares about her, she has to live with the constant hatred of Poseidon who only tolerates her because she is pregnant with Percy's future new body, everyone treats her with indifference and only addresses her to talk about the child in her womb

She has to attend monthly meetings where the gods talk about her child as if she were just a lab rat, they just talk about how the pregnancy is going and how much the baby has grown, whether the baby is healthy and how they will perform the possession ritual They always ask how is Percy's body?, Is Percy's body healthy? How long will it take until Percy's body is ready?

It would be even worse if during the months of pregnancy she started to truly love her baby, she just had to sit and listen in silence as everyone around her planned to kill and replace her daughter, she had to listen to the gods talk about her baby like If he was nothing more than an object, they talk about your baby like her soul was disposable

Maybe she tries to ask the Valkyries for help, ask them to help her escape, help save her baby but they refuse maybe because they really like Percy or maybe it's because it was Bruhilde who proposed the idea of ​​creating a new body for Percy, perhaps because she was the one who chose the ideal candidate whose daughter's body would be compatible with Percy's soul, perhaps because she bargained for Percy's rebirth for another thousand years of humanity's existence

It would be like one of those mother-of-manhua situations where they are pregnant and then discover that their cheating husbands have a lover who carries out an evil plan to kill her, except in this situation the mother is a minor goddess or a nymph whose chances of go back in time to get revenge and save her baby are -1000000000, in other words IMPOSSIBLE

After his failed escape attempt, the guards and gods around him became even more suffocating and cruel You can't convince me that Loki wouldn't spend the nine months verbally abusing the poor goddess/nymph while monitoring the baby's health until the moment of birth arrived

As soon as the baby is born, she is ripped from her mother's arms and taken to a room where the gods perform a ritual in which her little soul is ripped from her body and is replaced by Percy's soul

Now Poseidon is lovingly holding the baby. Percy in her arms while being surrounded by the other yanderes who are cooing and crying with happiness all this while in the background a goddess/nymph screams and cries in pain over the death of her daughter who didn't even have the chance to see the world, the poor thing died at the hands of her own father and EVERYONE is happy about that

Poseidon fulfills his wish of having been part of Percy's childhood and you can't walk down a hallway in Atlântica without seeing a portrait of her

Percy has his memories sealed since her tiny brain couldn't handle so much information but they eventually manifest themselves in dreams and dreams, she still has the same personality and morals because consequently she is still attached to her human morals from her past human life.

However, in the future if somehow Percy will be able to recover all her memories and discover how exactly she came back to life which I doubt because I bet all the gods would create a pact where they would promise not to mention a single word about what happened, but I imagine that in an act of revenge the mother of Percy's body would tell her the truth she would feel an overwhelming guilt for having indirectly killed and stolen the body of a little child

I feel like this scenario got really dark really fast.

this scenario is actually similar to a manhua I read where the female protagonist finds out that she and her baby were sacrificed by the temple so she only has a few months to save herself and her baby except in this case she failed

THIS IS PROBABLY THE BEST THING I EVER READ HOLY FUCKING SHIT

NO SERIOUSLY THIS IS SO SCRUMPTIOUSLY DARK OMG

IMAGINE HOW MUCH WORSE THE ROR CHARACTERS ARE GONNA BE??? NOT EVEN JUST THE YANDERES, BUT THE OTHER CHARACTERS TOO

THEY JUST WITNESSED PERCY DIE, BUT THEY MANAGED TO GET HER BACK AGAIN BUT AS A BABY THIS TIME

THIS GIRL IS GONNA BE SOOO FUCKING SHELTERED. LIKE MIZUHIME FROM TSUNAMI BUT 100% WORSE CUZ EVERYONE'S GONNA BE COLLECTIVELY WORKING TOGETHER TO GROOM AND MANIPULATE THIS GIRL

I LOVE THE IDEA OF HER GRADUALLY DEVELOPING HER ORIGINAL PERSONALITY, BUT SHE'S GONNA BE VERY VERY IGNORANT AND NAIVE BECAUSE OF HOW MUCH SHE'S BEING CODDLED AND SHELTERED

ALSO IMAGINE SHE SOMETIMES GETS GLIMPSES OF HER PAST THROUGH HER SLEEP AND POSEIDON'S ALL "oh it's just a bad dream, princess 🥺" BUT HE'S FREAKING OUT AT THE THOUGHT OF HER REGAINING HER MEMORIES SO HE LIKE FUCKING SCHEMES TO MESS WITH HER MIND AGAIN OR SOMETHING

I LOVE THIS AU SO MUCH OMG

[anxiously-going]

Safe With You

There's a difference in knowing because of objective knowledge and knowing from experience. And if there's one thing Len knows from experience, it's that Jim is safe.

Jim tried punching the button again. The door remained sealed. "Bones?" He called and knocked loudly. "C'mon, let me help."

Had he had his words, he would have told Jim he was fine. Of course, if he could talk, Jim wouldn't be so worried. Not that he could talk much, vomiting as he was. Still. It was the thought that counted.

Leonard threw up again. Or tried to at least as his body convulsed in with dry heaves. He coughed with the effort, making him gag more. He tried holding his breath to make his body go still, but it only lasted a moment before he was gasping. He closed his eyes. It was only to be expected that his nightmares would grow worse in the revelation of the abuse she put him through, but he had not expected this violent of a reaction.

He had not expected to feel her hands ghosting along his thighs as she used to do when they would sit on the couch together watching TV. Once it had been a question.

Later in the marriage it became an order.

She still phrased it as a question, but was persistent until she got the answer she wanted. Until she got the time she wanted.

He could have begged her to stop until he was in tears. And at first he did. Working himself into a panic, gasping for air as he pleaded with her to show down, to stop. She would only laugh and purr at him how attractive it was, making a if he way just being coy, rather than overwhelmed and afraid. She never listened. So he took his mind away instead.

Disassociating until she purred her thanks into his ear, murmuring about how wonderfully he did and how much she loved him.

Until he knew it was safe to come back.

This seemed worse somehow. He could not take his mind away from something that wasn't there. He wanted nothing more than to peel away the skin he could feel her pressing against. He wished he could go deaf, could have been deaf, so as to never have to hear the moans she let out as she pleasured herself on his body against his will.

He almost wish he'd pushed her away. Been more forceful in his objections. But still a year and half later, he feared what she might say.

He imagined pushing her body off of his, she would fall and hit her head. Claim that is was him forcing himself on her. That she hit her head as she struggled to get away. And he would be imprisoned for trying to defend himself.

They would never believe him.

He was stronger than she was. He could have gotten away any time he liked. All this time later he lived in fear of what she would say about him. That no one would believe him. That he would be mocked and told he must not have minded that much if he never fought back. The thought of such words was enough to reduce him to tears.

And that was how Jim found him when he finally managed to finagle the door open. Huddled against the cupboards under the sink and sobbing hard enough it made his whole body quiver. Jim never so much as questioned him. He knelt and practically scooped Len off the floor, running a hand up and down his back, the other held the back of Len's head and thumbed just behind his ear. Leonard still held his stomach for a long moment before finally melting fully into Jim's arms.

Jim was safe. His hands did not go where they were not wanted. Even when he used Leonard's body for his own needs he was not selfish about it. Jim was not greedy, taking Len's hands and putting them on his own body in silent orders for Leonard to give him pleasure, holding them there until he was satisfied. Jim was only ever content with a hug, or perhaps to lean his head on Leonard's shoulder. He had never so much as hinted at a desire for more. And he always listened when Len asked him for space.

Jim could be trusted with his body. So he took comfort in the hands that massaged his back and held his head. They were different than the hands would grip fist fulls of his hair to keep him from pulling away from a messy and passionate kiss. Different from the hands that would roam his body as if doing so was their reward for a brief shoulder massage. These hands were not selfish.

"You alright, Bones?" A kind voice asked quietly. A different quiet. Words spoken clearly and born of concern. Not the kind of quiet that came from a breathy lust that disregarded his own words in return or tried to tell him that he wanted to be touched.

Leonard blinked slowly and it dawned that he wasn't crying anymore. He wondered how long ago he'd stopped. "I'm okay," he croaked, his own voice little more than a whisper.

"We should get you back to bed. I'll help you email your professors tomorrow, let 'em know you're sick and you can take the day off." Jim waited for Leonard to move before helping him off the floor. He kept an arm around Len to keep him steady as he walked, then laid down in bed. Jim pulled the blankets up to his chin before sitting beside him on the bed. He massaged Len's head the way he did to get rid of a migraine. "You want me to stay with you?"

Len shook his head. In part because he could. He could tell Jim no and Jim would listen. Jim was safe that way, he could trust Jim. Because of that he would feel safe in Jim's arms.

But he also needed space to to process. He needed space to breathe. He needed to be able to say no. He needed to say no and be heard. To know that his words meant something. To know he meant something. Something more than device for another's pleasure and desires. He needed to know that he could.

"Okay," Jim nodded. He left only the briefest of kisses on Len's temple. A simple show of affection and endearment. There was no double meaning, no request or attempt at temptation behind it. "I'll be right here if you need me. I'm here for you, Bones."

Leonard patted his hand in thanks.

Jim chuckled a little and squeezed Len's arm. "G'night, Bones."

---

Leonard woke with his arms around Jim.

It had been his choice. He'd woken up in the middle of the night again, hearing her voice, and feeling her breath against his face and neck, needing something to ground him to the moment. Before he could feel the rest of her body pushing against his. He had planned to maybe splash some cold water on his face, but Jim didn't hesitat.

As soon as he heard Len standing he lifted his blanket and offered him a place next to him. He let Len settle in before simply, pressing his forehead to Len's and offering a quiet reassurance that he was okay, that he was safe.

He was far from greedy and let Leonard make the first tentative move at contact after that. He remembered falling asleep, holding Jim's hand to his chest and tucked somewhat under Jim's chin.

He felt safe now with Jim huddle backward against his chest and Jim seemed equally at peace, holding the arms his head was pillowed on. There was something grounding about his presence. He was lucky to have such a friend. He felt a pang of guilt at his selfishness. He knew Jim liked to cuddle, but Len had never asked for it, had never used that part of Jim for his own needs.

"You okay, Bones?" Jim asked groggily, and thumbed one of Len's arms.

"Yeah. Sorry." He tried to sit up but paused when Jim patted his arm.

"S'ok. Don't have to get up if you're not ready to. Already emailed the professors."

"What about you?"

"Eh. Need a day off anyway."

"Sorry about last night."

"Don't worry about it, Bones. Been a rough few days. Just get some rest today, okay?"

"Thanks, Jim." For only a moment no one spoke.

"Do you need me to get up?" Jim asked.

"I-I think so," Len stammered.

Jim nodded and pushed himself upright. Leonard sat up only to curl up on himself, and rested his chin on his knees.

"Hey, talk to me, Bones. What do you need?"

"I'm sorry."

Jim blinked. "What?"

"Bothering you in the middle of the night like that. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Jim assured. " And don't worry about waking me up either. We both know I'm a light sleeper. Honestly...I think I slept better with you there, since I knew you were okay that way. I usually sleep better with people close by."

"Does it actually help, or are you just saying that?"

"It...kinda depends. Some nights more than others, but it helps." Jim shook his head. "What are you gettin' at, Bones?"

"I don't wanna be selfish," Len answered quietly.

Jim blinked. "What?"

He took a shakey breath. "I don't- I don't wan' to take advantage of you not minding."

Unease tugged at Jim's gut. "Bones, I would let you know if anything you did made me uncomfortable. Alright? I promise. So don't worry about that."

Len managed a small nod, but couldn't bring himself to look at Jim.

"You know you can tell me to back off if you need to, right?"

Len nodded again, but still said nothing.

Jim took a breath and hoped he wouldn't regret his next words. "Bones, you are not her. Okay? You're not. I know neither of us really know...how this maintaining any kind of relationship is supposed to go, and we've had our rough spots. But you are not her. And I have never once felt unsafe with you."

"Thanks, Jim," Len replied softly and Jim smiled and lightly squeeze Len's arm.

"You're welcome, Bones."

[maytheoddshq]

Slate Skylar (he/him). Tribute. District Twelve. Twenty-one. Austin Abrams.

TW: drug use, abuse, neglect, torture, fire

Beryl Flint gave birth to a healthy baby boy and named him Slate. Beryl had been homeless her whole life, and after she had her son, things were no different. Sometimes she told her baby boy foggy stories dredged up from a memory covered in morphling. I once had the love of a Peacekeeper, she told her infant son, I once had a millionaire in my bed.

If I could catch the eye of powerful men, you could do something with your life too, she’d tell him before dropping off to a drug-induced sleep.

Slate spent most of his time in the homes of the neighborhood women. Those who had recently had children and had a strong enough milk supply fed him. They kept him from crawling into the roads when the Peacekeeper vans drove by. He was as healthy as a child in Twelve could be; he was skinny, cried rarely, and didn’t quite know which of the women who held him was called Mom.

Beryl moved from place to place, mostly squatting in homes that had been foreclosed upon but not yet sold or occupied. Run-ins with Peacekeepers were therefore frequent, and life was hard. She couldn’t work in the mines, her body too ruined by addiction, which had only started when a Capitol doctor came through town and started handing out pills for pain. She sometimes found men willing to pay for her company but her reputation preceded her.

She had lived a tough life. When she was high, she was kind. She played with his hair, told him stories that wandered and twisted and made little sense. She cheered for him and cried when he took his first steps on splintered wood in a one-room house that was not theirs. She said he was her most perfect boy.

But when she went through withdrawal, she was cruel. These were the times Slate doesn’t remember, times his memory’s blocked out, but the body and the heart cannot forget.

The last time Slate saw Beryl he was six years old, gripping the hand of one of the elderly women in the neighborhood. Beryl often disappeared for days or even weeks at a time, but she always came back. It was a few months before he realized that this time would be different, that she was not, in fact, going to return for him. She hadn’t even said goodbye.

The neighbor woman, Misty Skylar, fed and housed him. Misty taught him to read and write. He fell in love with the stories she told and he allowed himself to trust her, to love her, to believe that life could be good like this. He took her last name, discarding his mother’s, though the name that remained on the government record was his real one: Slate Flint. Despite the mothers he would go on to have, he carried the name of the first one with him, stamped in ink.

It was only a few years before Misty Skylar died of a sudden heart attack. Slate watched her take her last breath, helpless to do anything about it.

And so he was on the streets. No one could take him in or spare the resources anymore to help, so he worked odd jobs, camped out in empty houses as his mother had done, and when everything else failed, he begged. Most nights he found a roof to sleep under. Sometimes people would give him food. He learned to hunt and steal what he needed. He traded at the Hob. Independence was his only option. He stayed put, secretly and quietly nursing the idea that someday, his mother might return, and he needed to be there when she did.

At the local school, which he attended sparsely, the kind teacher looked out for him. She brought him lunch and provided him with books. He acted out in class, despite the fact that he was not being forced to stay, but he was smart and excelled in reading. He loved the stories they learned in class and always caught up quickly despite his many absences. He read the books the teacher gave him by lamplight at night in the houses he squatted in, or outside in the rain, squinting, by the light of the moon. It was nice to imagine a life that wasn’t this; a way of being that was more. He discovered a love for writing that matched his love for reading, and wrote stories on scraps of notebook paper. The stories were always about what the world could be, were it not so cruel.

When he was 15, Slate was arrested. He was living in a shack on the edge of town and getting himself in trouble at the Hob. Peacekeeper patrols of the perimeter were getting more intense, so he had to spend more time stealing than hunting. When a Peacekeeper turned his back on a piece of fruit in the square, Slate reached out his hand, grabbed the fruit, and—

This particular Peacekeeper was kinder than most and had seen him around enough. He gave Slate two options: one, he could go to jail, which meant paperwork and processing time spent on him, a petty thief no one cared about. The other option was Hestia Ember.

Hestia gladly took Slate in. He joined her brood of orphans and misfits, and she worked to tame him. To teach him how to feel safe. For the first time since Misty’s death, he had a place to come home to every night. For the first time in his life, he had breakfast, lunch, and dinner, every day, without fail, thanks to Hestia’s Victor salary.

Hestia brought him to the Tower during the Games so that he could get some work and make money at the coffee shop in the lobby. He wasn’t the best employee, but he learned some skills that Hestia deemed important. For the summer, he snagged an internship at the Capitol Voice, wanting to make connections in the writing and publishing world, even if it was at the trashiest outlet of them all.

There were a few people he liked there, who recognized him as a good writer and editor despite his rough-around-the-edges attitude. He left the internship with a few letters of recommendation and some contacts who told him they’d help him down the line.

A few months after finishing his internship and back in Twelve, Slate assumed the identity of Meta Morphic and published the first issue of TH3 T0MMYKN0CK3R. He and a few friends used the money he’d made at the coffee shop and now, working at the Hob selling trinkets a friend made, to print up some ‘counter culture zines’ that featured jokes about ‘Narcissus Snow,’ poems, comics, and a serialized novella by Meta Morphic. While there were jokes, there were also serious pieces in the zine, as Slate’s increased exposure to the Hunger Games and Capitolites at the Tower had woken him to just how unequal and unjust the system was. TH3 T0MMYKN0CK3R was a way to try to address that.

For the 132nd Games, Slate started at the Tower as a personal assistant to one of the escorts. She paid him an exorbitant amount of money to follow her around and hold things for her. But the point of him being there wasn’t to hold purses and pens. No, he was there to open doors for the zine and expand its readership.

Over the next year, the reach and scope of the zine grew more than he could have imagined. Shortly after 132 started, he met Cress Meadowforge, who agreed to train him – something he considered a precaution, in case the revolution ever needed him. But training soon grew into more, and he’d never have pictured himself with a Career Victor from One, but he’d also have never pictured himself living in an apartment in the Capitol, earning and spending money on tech to put the zine online and on the radio, working with a group of fellow rebels who saw the world in the same way as he did.

Soon he had photography from the Districts, thanks to Alder; Cat and Nano were on the radio keeping the districts updated; the Vox Populi were growing stronger in Eleven. At the same time, for the first time, he was falling in love. Everything had come together, and as the 134th Games approached, he was on top of the world. Perhaps finally, they would all be able to end the Hunger Games forever. He quit his job at the Tower and spent the time between the 133rd and 134th Games traveling between Eleven, Twelve, and the Capitol, seeing Cress, his family, spending some time at the Cache house, and growing his network of rebel-minded people.

And then, in May, Zip Cache was caught with an issue of TH3 T0MMYKN0CK3R in District Three.

His sister, Link, had to think fast. The authorities, seeing Zip with a half-written article, thought he was Meta Morphic, but Link knew the truth.

She told it to save her brother.

Hours later, Peacekeepers had assembled and were marching towards Slate’s apartment in the Capitol. Cress got a call from Lex Sterling with a head’s up, and the two of them frantically began to set fire to everything in the apartment, trying to destroy the evidence. At the last minute, Cress insisted that they escape, and Slate ushered her out the window and down the fire escape first. After she’d stepped out, he closed and locked the window behind her, destroyed a few more things in the apartment, and accepted his arrest, hoping that he’d done enough to save his friends and fellow rebels.

He was taken to prison. At first, they tried to get information out of him, having no shame in beating him, but he was silent. They gave up and threw him in a cell, telling him each day that he was going to be killed the next, or the next, or the next. They would make a spectacle of it, he was sure, and that was the reason for the delay.

Meanwhile Cress, who’d managed to escape, bribed some Peacekeepers in order to visit him in prison. There, she told him that she was pregnant with his child. Horrified and alone after Cress left, Slate spiraled, losing track of the time as he was told again and again that he would be killed soon, soon, soon. He had no idea what day, week, or month it was anymore. All he knew was that Cress would raise their child alone into this horrible world that he’d failed to save.

Very early on the morning of July 15th, they pulled a delirious Slate from his cell, changed his clothes into something nicer, and put him on an express train. He was blindfolded but he could tell from the distance and the route that they were headed to District Twelve. So that was where they would kill him: his home. He had no idea it was Reaping Day, didn’t even know it was July until the wet heat of Twelve pressed in on him. He was pulled out of the train and brought into the Justice Building; he could tell people were already gathered for the spectacle. They pulled the blindfold off him, opened the doors, and he heard a gasp from nearby, a choked cry — Hestia, he’d recognize her voice anywhere. His name was called into the crowd by an escort who didn’t even pretend to read it off a slip of paper. “Slate Flint,” she announced, “will be our first tribute for the 134th Hunger Games.”

Token: Hestia gives it to him – it's a bracelet made out of string that her brother made her and she keeps it safe in a box at home

3 weaknesses & strengths

+: independent, sticks up for himself, resourceful

-: quick to anger, gets lost in his emotions, rash

PENNED BY: VIRGINIA

[eclipsecrowned]

AND NOW FOR SOMEONE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT...

ROOSE BOLTON. (tw for body horror / death / bodily takeover)

personals dni.

Backstory: The current Lord of House Bolton in the North, Roose is a powerful vassal within Stark lands. His ancestors were once known as the 'Red Kings' who warred with the Stark 'Kings of Winter' in the Age of Heroes, meaning their beef is ancient and their stations were once even. However, Roose's ancestors were defeated in generations past, and bent the knee to their ancient rivals. For some reason, despite their clear threat to Stark rule and their history of hellish war crimes, the Kings of Winter allowed House Bolton to live.

This can widely be considered a mistake. House Bolton has continued their barbaric practices in secret, under the very nose of their liege lords. Roose is no exception, terrifying his own subjects into silence about the atrocities he commits. A cold-blooded killer and a serial abuser of common women, his cool and composed bearing belies a beast just beneath the surface of his self-control.

He has been married thrice, but has precious few children to show for it. Most of his sons died in the cradle, and only one survived to adolescence. That was as far as the boy made it, however. Roose's trueborn son was slain by his only acknowledged bastard, and finding himself without an heir, Roose moved said bastard into his own hall. This has proven perhaps his greatest fuck-up out of all his horrid actions over the years, because the boy is uncouth, a beast like his father, but without care for reputation or self-control. It is written on the wall that House Bolton is in decline, despite Roose remarrying and siring a child on his new bride that might yet see the family stagger on at least a generation longer.

Roose's most pivotal canonical act is betraying his own master, the King in the North, and seeing the boy and his mother slaughtered. This in addition to his bastard having allegedly killed the remaining Stark sons. For betraying his master for another, the Crown appointed the Boltons the new Lords of the North and Wardens of the same land. This is not the end of Roose's struggle, however, as he is surrounded by vipers who remain loyal to the fallen Starks and faces an external threat concerning another pretender King.

My Fanon:

So very little of what I bring to the table isn't going to make sense unless you're familiar with the Bolt-On theory. I have included a link to the initial post, but the tl;dr is thus: There has only ever been one Lord Bolton. Roose is an immortal being that kills and then overtakes the identity of his heirs. This is often, and in this case absolutely played in tandem with, coupled with the concept of Roose (or the being we call Roose in this lifetime) being the inhuman offspring of the legendary characters of the Night's King and his Corpse Queen. This in turn makes Roose half-Other and in possession of powers most would consider... Disturbing.

To this end, I have him begin in the Age of Heroes as Brandon Snow, bastard son of a Stark who took the black by an Other woman. Denied by his mortal, terrestrial relatives after his father was defeated, it shouldn't be surprising that he instead leaned into his mother's blood. It began with his father's magic. Little tricks for a little boy. Eventually he started exerting control. Either left the Wall of his own volition or was forced out by his father's former 'Brothers.'

This led to his taking up with the more ancient Others. Only problem was that he could pass for human, all the way into Wildling society and Nights Watch keeps. First the Snow, then the Others, then the Stranger. Eventually meant to clear the path for his kin -- and so his watch began on the other side of the Wall. The side that is the North.

Eventually made an in to the Bolton family, who were Kings in their own right in those days. Ancient enemies of his father's House. Whether he was invited in like a vampire or demon, or forced his way in through blood, or used trickery and stole the skin and then the life of either the Bolton patriarch or the heir, he has ruled the Dreadfort for millennia in an unbroken chain.

His watch is almost at its end. He has seen and learned much, and anticipates that the signs are auspicious for his kinsmen to ride over the destroyed Wall and rule as they were meant to. He will still yet have some part to play, but first, he must extinguish the heretic flame that Baratheon fool brought into the North.

I also like to complicate the inheritance situation for him. Depending on the verse, he has two trueborn daughters -- Ravenna by his first wife, and Lyanna by his second. Ravenna is written by @chaoswrote, while Lya is my own creation.

A study in: Vampirism as a metaphor for exploitation inherent in feudalism / Changeling mythology / Red right hand / Cycles of dysfunction in a family unit / "You have your father's eyes." / Predators / Usurpation / Good wombs have borne bad sons / The greater the light the darker the shadow / Our species eat the wounded ones / A gentleman is simply a patient wolf / Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring.

Verses/AUs:

Mainverse: Follows Roose through AGOT through ADWD. Canon-compliant save for the touches necessary for my interpretation of his age/being. Roose spends much of this time in the Northern army, while spinning his own web of treachery to finally claim his ancestral hall of Winterfell out from under the main Stark line. Once he does, however, he struggles to hold onto power as the North plots against him.

Pre-canon: Follows Roose through pre-AGOT events, as recent as just before its start or as distant as Robert's Rebellion. Roose rules the Dreadfort as a patient beast, preying on his own smallfolk while presenting a facade of loyalty to both his family and his liege lord Eddard.

Historical: Follows Roose in any historical setting. Beginning in the Age of Heroes and ending roughly around either the birth of the 'original' Roose or his ascension to power in the guise of his latest son. There is only one Lord Bolton, and something about him is ever the same, like the gold of Lannister hair or the grey of Stark eyes. The latter comparison is more apt than most realize. Liable to employ alt FCs.

Plot bunnies/Calls to Adventure:

For older muses: Your character knew the original Roose, before he was ever Lord. However, events and duties led the two of them apart. Having recently reunited, your muse has the haunting feeling that despite them looking so alike, this is not the same man they befriended so long ago. While everyone else has been frog-boiled into the adjustments between the true Roose and the patriarch of his family, your character is not fooled.

For younger muses: Your character has the unique misfortune to be given over to House Bolton for fostering. On paper, it's not such a bad idea. They're a powerful House, and an old one, and its Lord is such an unassuming but respectable man. In reality, you're in a cult, send a Raven to your parents.

For any muses: War makes strange bedfellows. Whether while he serves the North or after his great betrayal at the Twins, your muse must endure serving with or serving outright Lord Bolton. At least he's pretty good at word play, if you catch him in the right mood.

For any muses: For totally avoidable reasons, Roose Bolton will be passing away. He will be leaving his skin like a discarded tunic on the floor and walking right out of Winterfell. Any body will do on his way out. Your muse realizes that someone they are close to is not quite themself.

For 'Targs Win' AUs: Eddard Stark is a traitor bitch and House Bolton were once Kings in their own right. A cold war (lol) ensues where House Bolton wants to take what the Crown will doubtlessly strip from their Lord. And whatever politicking, warmongering, or marrying it takes, Roose will get that castle, so help him Gods--

Notes on this character:

I'm not his defense attorney. What he does in canon secures him as one of the biggest monsters in the entire franchise. But he's an amazing narrative tool, and I want to explore that through the lens of a frankly batshit insane theory. You can rage against him in my inbox and all I'm going to do is agree and ask why you're telling me what I already know. Once he's live I'll be dropping every iteration of his tag for blacklisting purposes, and may just give him a general tag for blacklisting on any post that involves him.

I'm not going to write out his acts of pure evil. They exist but I'm not about to write it out, because I am not interested in normalizing the acts he commits via describing them or fleshing out real world atrocities. This is not me avoiding that he does these things or trying to sugarwash his character. His evil speaks for itself. I have nothing to add to it that will amount to anything more than exploitation of the subjects at hand, so I'm not even going to attempt to do so.

I don't really want to ship him. I don't really think he needs to be shipped or romanticized in any capacity. Just leave him where he lies. Your muse cannot fix him.

[love-minor-poltergeist]

Skinship

Word Count: 938

Warnings: Canon-typical Violence, mentions of Child Abuse/Neglect, and Character Death

A/N: Howdy, all. We interrupt your usual Cuphead course with some Dead by Daylight! I know this a hard tonal shift from usual works, but I promised myself that I'll write more self-indulgent stuff this year. And as someone who struggles with serious motivation issues, this was a triumph in my books!

Thank you for giving my little fic a chance!!

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“Soft” wasn’t a word Max got to use very often. Nor was it one he usually felt. 

Softness was reserved for the monochromatic world he saw on his pa’s television. The old-fashioned sitcoms with loving families, pearly white smiles, and the joyous laughter of children. The world where parents held their children tight while he watched from his cell, alone in the dark. 

It was reserved for the freshly laundered clothes Ma folded while she sat on the couch, ignoring the occasional rattle of her son’s chains in the other room. Her hands, milk-white with long, stick-thin fingers, always looked so small from his peephole. Easily swallowed up by pa’s shirts like a bunch of snakes wrapped in a blanket. Max had often wondered if it was as comfy as it looked; all wrapped up in clean, warm clothes. 

Not that he ever got to know. 

Then he finally broke free. 

Blood had coated his hands like hot, viscous paint as he trudged home– body heavy yet his heart alight. He silently passed the bodies of slaughtered police officers, hardly sparing them a glance as limped his way home. 

Max had found Pa closest to the porch. Mouth agape and eyes blank. Pa’s hair, once a shiny strawberry blonde, was matted with dirt, blood, and broken bits of bone. The sight was enough to bring Max to a brief pause. Then, with a low whuff through his nose, Max turned away. 

Calmly, Max limped inside– leaving the crows to caw and peck at what remained of Pa’s head.

He had been happy that he had the home to himself now. That no one was around to hurt him, insult him, or starve him like his family. That he could finally watch the TV in the living room as freely as he wanted. He no longer had to survive off scraps. 

He could finally sleep in a bed.

Time went by. The high of freedom fades away like the scent of fresh flowers; gone before he could truly savor it. He’s left behind with a house filled with bad memories. Awful, awful memories that refused to go away. 

Anger soon dug and burrowed into the squishy meat of his grey matter, consuming every moment with agony until all he could do was cry and wail. Wail and wail until broken furniture piled up around him. 

Even Pa’s old tv wasn’t enough to distract him from years of stolen childhood. The actors behind the screen with their gleaming smiles and pristine skin– were utterly free of the hell he had been forced into since birth. 

Max had shattered the screen without a second thought. Glass shards had bit and torn into his hands. He had felt blood– hot and wet– ooze out of the marred flesh of his knuckle; every movement, every twitch of his finger accompanied by a sharp sting. 

For a moment, the world was silent. 

Then a cry– shrill and high– broke the man from his stupor. A pig’s squeal. 

Max snapped. 

By the time he had come to, Max was standing over a dead hog and holding a bloodied hammer. 

He stared at the pig’s lifeless eyes, brain matter smattered against the ground. 

No. Soft isn’t a word befitting of him. Far from it. 

You, on the other hand… You were everything he wasn’t. 

Smooth, plump, and rounded cheeks that looked as soft as a peach. Eyes befitting of a baby doe, thick lashes and all. And your hands, unblemished and uncalloused, always seemed to remain clean despite the blood and grime of the fog. You reminded him faintly of the lace doilies Ma would occasionally use– delicate and pretty. 

Truly, you had no business being anywhere near him.

Yet here Max was– nestled under the sheets of his parent’s old bed (well, a copy of it at least) with you beside him. His hands nervously fist the thick quilts beneath him, pulse skipping a beat as you rest your head against his shoulder.

The pads of your fingers were feather-soft as you absentmindedly drew circles into his stomach. Each brush and stroke was slow and gentle as they quietly explored the twisted flesh beneath; curious yet tentative. All Max could do was lay as still as possible. 

He’s highly aware of his heavy, ragged breaths, a side-effect of his birth defects, and how painfully loud they were in the tiny room; of the dirt and grime that always seemed to coat his skin, as he could never wash them off thoroughly by himself; of the strange webbing of flesh between his fingers and toes. By all means, you should be disgusted by him. Not handling him as if he were made of glass–

A sudden brush against the side of his stomach startles him, pulling out a surprised, rumbly noise from his lips as he flinches. You stiffen beside him, lifting your hand as you look up at him with concerned eyes. 

“Sorry, hun. Did that hurt?” you ask. 

“No. Far from it”, Max wanted to say. It felt... Nice. He didn’t even know he could be ticklish. 

Instead, he settles for a garbled, inarticulate noise and a shake of his head. And thankfully, that’s enough for you. A smile settles on your lips. 

“Thank god. Lemme know if I ever hurt you, okay? Especially out of trials.” 

You resume your idle skinship, nuzzling into his shoulder. All Max could do is stiffly nod and let out a ragged chuff. A blanket of silence envelops the two of you once again. 

No. Soft isn’t in his routine. But he’ll fight tooth and nail if it means he gets to keep the one shred of warmth he’s ever had. 

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[withlovewriting]

Mixed Drinks and Smoke Rings 19: For You, My Friend

Chapter Nineteen: For You, My Friend

Don’t you know too much already? I’ll only hurt you if you let me, Call me friend, but keep me closer, And I’ll call you when the party’s over, Quiet when I’m coming home, and I’m on my own

Summary: New to town, you didn’t need a friend, you needed a dealer. Thankfully, a girl from your Narcotics Anonymous meetings knew just the guy.

Characters: Fezco (euphoria) x Non-descriptive Reader

Words: 4,006

Chapter Warnings: Drug abuse, angst, addiction.

Series Warnings: Addiction, sexual themes, cursing, abuse (various), smut, drug use, teenagers being fucking idiots. 18+ only, minors DNI

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taglist: @iamasimpingh0e​ @chelseagirl77​ @zeida​ @thepawn1999​ @alanis-altair​ @purplebtsmagic​ @fuckrigthoff​

Throughout the drive, you remained silent, a million different thoughts rushing around your swirling head.

You thought you knew Fez. Sure, you hadn't technically been around more than a couple of months, but you'd spent so much of your time in his presence, and although you knew he could appear standoffish and stoic, you also knew how golden-hearted he was. How sweet he could be.

But tonight, you were finally shown the darker side of him. You couldn't deny it; it scared you. And yet... He didn't.

Once the car was in park and he'd opened his door, you practically fell from the vehicle in an attempt to chase after him. Once the three of you were inside, you threw the sweater into Fez's face, the boy sending you a quizzical look as he held it in his hands,

"What the fuck was that about, Fezco?"

"I ain't dealing with this bullshit. Night." Ash made his way to his bedroom, uninterested in the fact his brother had beaten the living shit out of Nate Jacobs. He was sure he had a good reason for it, and even if he didn't... Well, they were brothers.

Neither of you paid much attention as Ash left, his heavy footsteps disappearing down the hall. The two of you stood only a few feet away from each other, staring. Or, in your case, glaring.

Stepping forward, you repeated yourself, "Fezco. Seriously. You can't just pull that shit and think nothing's gonna come of it."

"I really don't fucking care. Playboy deserved it."

"Beating him to a fucking pulp? Really? Who the fuck deserves that-"

Throwing his sweater over the back of the sofa, Fez's jaw clenched, "I already told you. He fucking deserved it, and he's lucky I stopped when I did."

"You only stopped because you were pulled off him."

Shrugging, Fez made his way to the bathroom, ready to wash his hands under the water and scrub the blood from his knuckles. He barely flinched when the door swung back open after him, your body stumbling into the room.

"You're a fucking idiot, Fezco. His dad-"

"I don't give a shit about his dad. He ain't gonna do nothin'. It's all bullshit."

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to stop the room from spinning, "You put someone in the hospital, Fez."

"Just 'cause you had one dance wit' him, doesn't mean you gotta ride his dick so hard," he scoffed, shaking his head as he ran his hands under the cold water.

"Are you for real? That's what this is about? Fucking hell, Fezco. I hate the guy as much as you do, but you have absolutely no right to be jealous-"

"You think I ain't seen him eyeing you? Watching you across the room? Shit, Rue told me he was fuckin' hassling you, I didn't think you would actually wanna be around him-"

Marching forward, you turned off the tap, forcing him to turn his head to you as his brows pulled down, "Nate Jacobs is a piece of shit. I know that, you know that, fucking hell, even he knows that. But I don't need you beating the shit out of people for my fuckin' honor, or whatever the fucking reason was."

Taking a deep breath, Fez tried to calm himself down. This was the first time you'd really spoken in so long, he didn't want to say something he'd regret and push you even further away.

"It ain't just about you, OK? He's been fuckin' with Rue and Jules, and you know she's family to me. We both know he was the one who called the cops and started all that shit with Mouse in the first fuckin' place. He deserved it."

Your high might've been fading, but as you looked into Fez's pleading cerulean eyes, you finally managed to put two and two together.

"This isn't the first time, is it?"

Pulling his brows together, Fez's head tilted to the side as he watched you, "I don't know what you mean, Ma-"

"Don't fucking 'Ma' me, Fezco," pushing away from his side, you began to pace in front of him, looking almost manic, "The shit with Mouse... How did you get the money?"

Fez stood ramrod straight, his eyes avoiding you as he seemed to find something much more fascinating on his shoe. Remaining silent, you continued your pacing.

"Your hands... Your knuckles were busted that night, too. This wasn't the first time you did this," turning to look at Fez, eyes wide your voice was much quieter as you came to the realization, "Who the fuck did you hurt for that money, Fez?"

Rubbing the back of his head, Fez released a long sigh, still trying to avoid your eyes. Moving toward him, you cupped his face, tipping his head backward until his remorseful eyes met yours.

"I didn't wanna say anythin', 'cause I thought you'd think differently of me. You weren't meant to be there, and I didn't think you'd have to find out. I know I fucked up that night but I promise you, he wasn't a good person either."

Your chin wobbled as you continued to stare at him. He was right, you did think differently of him after that night. You'd been relatively forthcoming with each other -- almost instantaneously -- and that night was the first time you knew he was hiding something from you. It felt like the beginning of the end.

"You don't get to choose if they're good people or not, Fezco."

His mouth opened as you pulled your hands away from him, stepping back toward the bathroom door, but he quickly closed it when you returned your crestfallen gaze to him.

"I should go."

He didn't even hesitate, "You could stay."

Shaking your head, you tried not to watch as his shoulders slumped, "This doesn't change anything, Fez. My dad is still sitting in jail because of you-"

"He's in jail because he almost killed you. He's lucky the cops got there before me." Fez stepped forward, unable to hide his exasperation.

"You're really not helping your case here."

Leaning against the sink, Fez ignored the pulsing pain radiating from his knuckles as he released a sigh, "Look, Ma... I ain't gonna apologize. I told Nate what would happen if he kept fuckin' with us. But I am sorry you had to see it."

Nodding, you pressed your lips into a tight line. When you didn't respond, he stepped forward, still keeping a respectful distance as he tried to catch your eyes, "At least lemme drive you home."

The ride was quiet, the awkward silence between you was suffocating and you almost wished you'd just walked home. Your high had dwindled and you'd left the rest of your drugs in Virgil's laundry room with Rue and Elliot.

As Fez's car rolled to a stop, both you and Fez's eyes were glued to your house. Loud music pumped out of the open windows, and crowds of kids you didn't recognize littered the front yard.

"Yo, you missin' your own party or somethin'?"

Inhaling deeply, you stared at your house a moment too long for Fez's liking, his brow furrowing, "You ain't know about this? You want me to-"

"No, Fez. It's fine. I, uh... It's OK."

Undoing your seatbelt, you slid out of the car, sending him what you hoped was a reassuring nod, "Thanks for the ride."

Fez watched as you made your way to the open front door, ignoring the people who were sitting around, drinking. Sighing, he finally drove off once you were safely in the house.

Pushing your way through the crowd, you ignored the murmurs as you elbowed your way through, eyes darting around the darkened room looking for someone you recognized.

Any other night, and you'd have been fine, but after the shitshow of a New Year's party, you just wanted to head to bed.

"Hey, you finally made it." Liam turned after you'd tapped him on the back, face split into a large grin.

"I mean, I do live here Liam. What the fuck is this?"

Liam slung his arm over your shoulders, and you noticed how dilated his pupils were, knowing the beer in his hand had nothing to do with it, "Nobody had a free house, and your place is so great. Plus, I wanted to see you tonight. Start my new year off right."

"I don't even know half of these people, Liam."

Shrugging, he released a loud laugh, "Neither do I. It's fine."

He pulled you into an embrace, totally unaware of your stiff posture, arms hanging by your sides, "C'mon, you're way too sober for a party. Devon's here and-"

"Devon came?"

Liam's smile stretched even wider as he nodded in the direction of his favorite dealer, "Of course. He didn't wanna miss a night this big."

Pushing yourself from your ex-boyfriend's grip, you made your way over to Devon, who was sitting in the kitchen on a fold-up chair, smoking a cigarette, "Sup, baby. Nice party. House is a bit of a downgrade though."

Sighing, you fell into the empty chair next to him, wishing everyone else would just disappear, "It wasn't really my idea."

"Oh shit. Well, you know how it is. I heard you been throwin' one most nights."

Taking a deep inhale of the cigarette Devon had offered you, you closed your eyes, feeling the warm smoke settle in your chest, slowly forcing you to finally exhale.

"If you feed a stray dog, he's never gonna leave."

Turning your attention back to Devon, you handed him back the cigarette, "I thought you liked Liam."

A velvet laugh escaped his lips as he puffed away, "I like him when he's buyin' from me. Soon as the transaction is over, so are we."

Making a non-committal noise, you rested your head on your hand.

Devon wasn't like the rest of the people you knew from your old life. He didn't go to private school and never had rich parents to fall back on. In some ways, he reminded you a little of Fez.

He wasn't old money. Anything he had, he got himself. There was a rumor going around a few years back that he'd been in jail for a while, but nobody really knew why, and nobody was brave -- or stupid -- enough to inquire.

He sold a lot more shit than Fez ever did, not caring about who he sold to. So long as they had the money, he'd supply them with drugs. You weren't even sure if he felt an ounce of guilt when a guy died a couple years back from a Fentanyl overdose in the middle of a party. Fentanyl that was supplied by him.

Nobody dared to tell the cops where the boy had got the drugs, all denying any knowledge of it at all. Devon didn't have to worry about it. A couple of thinly-veiled threats and he was good.

Biting your lower lip, your eyes scanned the swarm of people, all enjoying themselves as you sat pouting in your own home. Pulling out your phone, you sent Rue a quick text, asking if she managed to keep her promise and not snort everything between herself and Elliot. When you received no reply, you presumed she was either with Jules still, or too high to respond. Either way, neither option helped you out much.

Maybe you should've got Elliot's number before you left.

"Man, who pissed in your cornflakes this mornin'?"

"What?" turning your head, you noticed Devon staring at you, an eyebrow raised as he looked through the crowd, spotting Liam and Jen almost aggressively making out.

"You still hung up 'bout that?"

Scoffing, you turned away from the PDA-loving couple, a disgusted look settling on your face, "Not in the slightest. I'm just... I dunno."

"Too sober?" He grinned, his gold tooth shining in the low light.

"Entirely."

"Whatcha need then? I got all the usual."

Thinking for a moment, your heart pounded.  Pills were fine, great even. But it just didn't feel enough. Remember the serenity you felt the moment Faye's drug of choice entered your bloodstream, you squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to look at Devon.

"Do you have anything... Stronger."

Your phone vibrated on your bedside table repeatedly, enough so that you were more than happy to launch the thing at the wall. Before you did, you checked the caller ID, noticing it was Rue. Releasing a dramatic sigh, you answered,

"What the fuck was that last night?"

Rue hadn't even given you the time to breathe, but at least she sounded as rough as you did.

"Honestly... No fucking idea."

"In all the time I've known Fez, I've never seen him act like that. It was fuckin' badass. Man is a fuckin' G."

Squeezing your eyes closed, you really weren't in the mood, "Rue, c'mon. He put Nate in hospital. Do we even know if he's OK?"

"I fuckin' hope not. Nate's a piece of shit. He had it coming." Rue scoffed, coming to Fez's defense.

Rubbing your hand over your face, you groaned when you realized you'd slept in your makeup, "How was the rest of the night? You spoke to Jules, right?"

You could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke, "Yeah. It was... Actually kinda good. Oh shit, guess what happened."

Rue continued when you grumbled, "So, I was in the laundry room with Elliot, waiting for you to come back, and I swear to God I thought I was gonna die. My heartbeat was super fuckin' low."

Your eyes flew open, the light from your bedroom window burning your retinas, "Rue, what the fuck?"

"It's totally fine, I snorted some Adderall and everything was good."

Were you not vilely hungover, you would've scorned Rue for her flippant reaction. Fortunately for her, however, you felt the mistakes of last night begin to crawl up your throat,

"Listen, Rue. I gotta go. But you're OK, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm totally good."

After your conversation with Rue ended, you laid back on your bed, taking deep breaths until your nausea settled down. Your mind was groggy, and your arms and legs felt like they were made of lead, causing you to refuse to move for a solid hour.

Eventually, you grabbed your phone again and sent Maddy a text, asking how Nate was.

Her reply was blunt, and you couldn't help the shiver of guilt that ran down your spine when she asked you why the hell Fez would do that. Out of all the people at that party, you felt like she should know exactly why someone would pound Nate to a pulp.

Your phone vibrated again and assuming it was Maddy you quickly unlocked your phone, finding your motions freezing when you read the ID. It was Fez.

A simple text, asking if you could speak later. Hearing a loud groan from your bedroom floor, you shot up in bed, brows pulled together as you stared at the stranger who was pushing herself from the floor of your bedroom. Noticing you, she sent you a quick head nod before stumbling out of the door, hopefully on her way home.

Pushing yourself up and hoping you at least made it out of your room before you thew up, you continued your deep breaths until you reached the top of the stairs, ignoring the ripped wallpaper and graffiti covering the walls as you slowly made your way downstairs.

Giving a swift nudge to someone's ribs as you stepped over them, you cleared your throat before calling out, "C'mon guys. Party's over, go the fuck home."

Groans and grumbles were heard as one by one, everyone slowly got up, grabbing their shit and leaving. At least they all looked as bad as you felt.

Devon -- who had fallen asleep in the chair he'd been sitting in the last time you'd seen him -- groaned, taking a swig of whatever liquid he had in a plastic bottle before offering some to you.

Ignoring the rumble of rejection from your stomach, you took a gulp, your face screwing up when the vodka hit your taste buds.

As Devon pushed himself up, you quickly grabbed his sleeve, peering up at him desperately, "Before you go, do you, uh... You have any more?"

His brows tugged together for just a second, as he tried to figure out what the hell you were talking about, "Oh, yeah. You know, you can say heroin, baby. It ain't a bad word."

You swallowed the lump in your throat as he huffed out a laugh, digging through his backpack for what he needed. Raiding your bag that was hung up in the closet, you grabbed your purse.

"$152 for an ounce, $80 for half, or-"

"Half an ounce is fine, thanks." Ignoring his raised eyebrow, you shuffled your weight between your feet as you waited for him to retrieve the right baggy, before counting the cash you'd handed him.

"'Bout 10 hits in that, so take it steady, alright? Nice doin' business with you." You watched as Devon made his way toward the door, saying a quick goodbye to Liam who was hovering around.

"Great party last night," he smiled as you made your way toward him, ready to ask him to leave.

"Yeah, would've been great had I known about it."

Liam had the decency to look abashed, his hands in his jean pockets as he looked toward the floor, "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. It's all good though, right?"

Shrugging your shoulders, you sent him a tight-lipped smile.

"I should uh, I should get going... Right?"

Nodding, you moved to hold the door as he stepped through it into the bright sun. Declining any help in tidying the place, you tried to hurry him out so you could go back to your room and crash.

Balking as Liam's lips tried to connect with your own, thankfully you were quick enough to turn your cheek, leaving his mouth to skim your face. Taking your face in his hands, he smashed his lips onto yours, refusing to let you move your face away.

"What about Jen..." You huffed, pushing him away by his chest as you peered around him, seeing the girl sitting in Liam's car waiting patiently.

Shrugging, he sent you what you were sure he thought was a charming smile, "What about her? I'll see you later."

Barely able to look at him anymore, you slammed the door shut and locked it, thankful that everyone had finally left.

Doing drugs on the same day you had an NA meeting definitely wasn't one of your smartest decisions, but you could barely bring yourself to give a shit.

Rue led across your bed, her feet swinging off the edge as she babbled away about her reunion with Jules. You were happy -- really, you were -- but their relationship gave you more of a headache than your friendship with Fez, and even being high didn't soothe the tension in your head.

"I need money." You interrupted, causing Rue to stutter over her last words.

Sitting up, she raised an eyebrow, "For what?"

"This place... Shit like that. It's not like Dad was rolling in it, and if I can't pay the bills then I'm fucked." It wasn't **technically** a lie. You should probably pay the bills... But you needed money for your new, nasty little habit, and although Rue had snorted Faye's heroin with you, you didn't want her to know you'd fallen down that hill.

"I mean, Laurie had like a shit ton of drugs at her place. Maybe you could see if she needs a runner?" Rue chuckled, finding herself funnier than she probably should've... But she had a point. One you couldn't ignore.

"Anyway," Rue waved her hand around, as if waving her previous thought away, "Heard there was a bitchin' party here on New Year's. One that I wasn't invited to..."

Sighing, you sent her a small smile, "I was with you for the majority of the night. Plus, I didn't exactly know it was happening... Wait, how did **you** know? Everyone was at Virgil's."

"I dunno, a little birdy told me?"

"Rue, c'mon. Have you and Fez been talking about me?"

Her mouth gaped as she tried to think of an excuse, but she was also just a little too high, "I mean, it's not like we're gossiping. He just mentioned the party and asked if I knew what had happened. It's not a big deal."

"Well, I'd prefer if you didn't mention me at all to him," your tone was sharp, causing the young girl to flinch ever-so-slightly, "Shit, I'm sorry I just... You know how he gets."

Nodding, Rue stood from your bed, "Yeah, totally. Consider it a no-go topic. Anyway, we need to head out. You alright to drive?"

Your skin was so itchy, that you wanted to just peel it off. You'd been trying to concentrate at the meeting, at least as much as you usually did, but between the scratching and the hot flushes, you could barely keep your eyes open. So when the meeting was adjourned, the fact you hadn't raced up from your seat as usual concerned Ali.

"Everything alright over here?"

Your eyes rolled, knowing that this conversation was going to lead to a lecture. All you wanted was to head back home and get your next hit.

"I'm fine, Ali. I'm just... Not feeling well."

His dark eyes watched you for a second, full of concern, "It must be difficult with your current situation, but if you need anything, please don't hesitate to-"

"I don't need or want your help Ali. It's just a cold, I'll be fine."

Considering you didn't yet have the strength to stand up, the man made himself at home in the vacant chair next to you, "You're really not lookin' too good. Anyone I can call for you?"

"I came with Rue..."

Ali's brows furrowed as he watched you, knowing damn well that Rue had already left to meet Jules, "Do you think it's a good idea? You need support, and I'm not doubting for a second that you care about each other but... Is your friendship healthy right now? For either of you? I mean... If neither of you two did drugs, would you be friends? Do you have anything else in common?"

Pushing yourself up a little too quickly, you wobbled, grasping the chair in front of you, even though Ali's arm shot out, keeping you upright. Once your head had stopped spinning, you shoved his arm off you and wiped the sweat from your brow, "Just stop, Ali. Rue is the only person I have in my life that understands this shit."

Ignoring Ali's frown, you made your way toward the exit, praying you didn't stumble.

"When you're ready, just know I'll be here. More people care about you than you think."

Sitting in your car, you tried to calm your pounding heart as you listened to the radio. Ali's words were spinning around your head and you could feel the panic set in, regardless of how much you tried to force it down.

Maybe he was right. Maybe the only reason you and Rue had formed a close bond was that you were both abusing drugs. If Rue had always been sober, would she have even given you the time of day? Shit, you'd already dragged her back down to your level the night Jules had left and you were on the hunt for a high.

She'd been doing well, too, staying sober. And you'd fucked that up for her by enabling her drug use, despite knowing that she'd overdosed a couple of months before you'd met.

Slamming your hands against your steering wheel, you couldn't hold in your tears anymore, allowing them to freely flow as you sobbed.

You didn't want to have to let Rue go, but for her sake, you needed to, for her sake.

[delimeful]

tear it down (around my head) (6)

warnings: unreliable narrator, physical & mental abuse, violence, dissociation, panic, remus-typical body horror, PTSD, painfully high number of dad jokes

-

Everything was not fine.

Patton shook his head, trying to focus on the meat he was browning. That wasn’t true, not really. Here, everything was wonderful.

That was the problem.

One day turned to two, turned to a week, turned to two weeks. And Patton was still here.

In all that time, they hadn’t made a single mention of kicking him out, not even Umbra. They’d settled into a routine, displacing their usual lives to live in what had to be a secondary safehouse, and Patton had somehow been folded into that routine without any of them thinking twice.

He wasn’t the best cook, but he was good at what he knew, and he had the time and the energy to make meals where the others dragged themselves back from patrol looking near-ready to collapse. It was the least he could do for them, even if Dee insisted on buying the groceries.

When their schedules got really rough, Umbra in particular had been sustaining himself on pre-packaged snacks, coffee, and stress. Patton seemed to be slowly but surely working his way into the hero’s good graces through warm meals alone.

Remus was an inventor in the kitchen, and so excited to try bizarre combinations that it was contagious. Whenever a dish went sideways or Patton had an odd idea for a garnish or sauce, he found himself setting the trial portion in question aside for Remus to try.

Whenever Dee got the chance, he would appear in the kitchen to help him, chatting as they worked through preparing each dish, probably making sure Patton wasn't poisoning anything. He had mentioned several times that Patton ‘really didn’t have to do all this’, but Patton had noticed the way his shoulders had eased and his face lightened when everyone ate together.

He enjoyed the cooking process, too, introducing him to new recipes or better ways to prepare certain foods. Patton suspected that Dee would have been filling this role already if it weren’t for the fact that– no matter how many hands he had on hand– he simply didn’t have enough hours in the day.

After all, it was The Conductor who seemed to do most of the managing when it came to their chaotic crime-fighting trio, and even when they weren’t patrolling the streets or battling megalomaniacs, he could be found nose-deep in extensive legal documents or making phone calls to mysterious contacts and/or friends in high places. According to Remus, it was thanks to him that the three of them could use their abilities without being impeded by local law enforcement in the first place.

It was amazing, watching the way they put their all into being heroes, into helping people. Even someone like him. It was only natural that he’d want to return that kindness as much as he possibly could.

And so it went.

Every day, Patton did his best to make himself useful and make the three of them happy.

Every night, he tossed and turned under the force of horrible, gut-wrenching memories, fragments of a life he didn’t want to remember.

Every morning, the pit of guilt grew larger in his gut and he thought about telling Dee.

And yet, the words remained locked in his throat, all stoppered up by the idea that he’d tell them just as soon as he had to leave. The promise that he’d confess once he finally overstayed his welcome.

But he was still here. And the memories were getting worse.

They’d started out like that first dream. He still felt like himself, if a version of him that had been through an unending streak of bad days. The memories would start during little moments of solitude, walking the streets or curled up at home, finally feeling like he was half-settled in his skin. No matter how hard he tried, he could never remember his surroundings or read any of the street signs.

Then, the dream would shift to a punishment, like he was being reprimanded for those little moments of selfhood even in his subconscious mind. They varied in method and intensity, but none of them were as simple or painless as that first memory’s blow.

He learned that he could tell how old the memory was by his reaction to the worst punishment. In the old memories, the ones that were even hazier than normal and patchy at the edges, his memory-self would struggle and writhe and beg. It would take several other people to pin him down and force him into a kneel, their harsh hands leaving heavy imprints.

In the more recent memories, he didn’t fight. He folded to his knees and simply waited there, still and silent and unrestrained, for the blistering pain to white out his vision. His mind was mostly blank, but the reasoning still lay there under the surface: They went quicker that way. Only a single hand laid on him that way. Boss was happier that way. It was better.

Patton woke from those memories sobbing every time, trying to remind himself that it wasn’t real, that it wasn’t him, that he hadn’t given up hope. But he had, hadn’t he? If someone pressed along those fault lines, wouldn’t he do it again? Didn’t the memories prove that?

He hadn’t known it was possible to feel so betrayed by one’s past self.

Patton was jarred from his thoughts by a timer going off, and found himself stationed at a cutting board, halfway through dicing some chives. Hadn’t he been in the middle of something else before…?

Turning, he could see the ground beef sitting on the stovetop on low heat, already seasoned and ready to be scooped into taco shells. The smell of cumin and garlic powder was thick in the air, seemingly impossible to miss. He had no memory of even pulling the containers from the spice rack.

He’d lost time again. It was so easy to get caught up in his own head these days. Alarmingly so, when he didn’t know just what lay in the corners of his mind. There might be a supervillain in there somewhere. He was lucky that the episodes had been subtle so far, enough that he could just be dismissed as airheaded.

Something was wrong with him. Really wrong. He needed to tell the others.

The front door opened, and a chorus of three mismatched voices called out a greeting, toppling into the kitchen like sleep-deprived college students.

Umbra ducked past him with a grumbled ‘behind you’ and hauled both the first aid kit out from under the sink and four plates from the cabinet, Remus hopped up to sit on the bar with bloody lips and a cheshire grin that was missing a tooth, and Dee stripped off his outer armor to don his favorite apron (emblazoned with ‘No Bitchin’ in My Kitchen’, courtesy of Remus) before bustling over to the stovetop.

“Welcome home,” Patton told them, watching as they bickered and set the table and slowly but surely let the strain of a long night slide off their shoulders.

It was late. They were tired. He would tell them later.

—

“Umbra, now!”

His lips twitched down into a muted scowl as a bubble of darkness descended on him, blocking out his view of the street around him. Surrounding him entirely in darkness, with only his own glowing form visible in the void.

Only a heartbeat later, there were multiple hands grabbing hold to his arms, legs, all of them attempting to pin him in place. For a moment, his mind grew confused, a memory of punishment– of darkness and gripping hands– overlapping with the present for just long enough to make him pause.

“Surrender,” The Conductor demanded, his voice strained with the power of maintaining his constructs. “Whatever it is you’re dealing with, we can get you help.”

Anger bubbled hot and bright in him. These false heroes were a plague, and they insisted on trying to infect him. Unforgivable.

The bubble of shadow constricted closer, heavier around him, but it didn’t matter. They couldn’t hide away in the darkness. He was the bringer of light.

His glow grew into a piercing shine, brighter and hotter until it was burning away the hands and evaporating the darkness. Cleansing the scourge from this city, as always.

The so-called heroes disengaged, more than familiar with his blast radius, but he wasn’t willing to let them go so easily. He would engage them here, keep them occupied and contain their impurities while Boss made changes in the city unhindered, working on a bigger scale than these meaningless skirmishes.

He didn’t like the heavy darkness. A small, distant part of him cowered away from it.

With an outstretched hand, he pulled back his light before it could finish its usual crackling halo and redirected the energy towards a new target, one darting between the shadows cast by his brightness. Between one shadow and the next– there.

“Umbra!”

The others’ warning only gave the hero enough time to turn his head. His eyes went wide and frantic, the terror on his face lit from below as the bolt of concentrated light struck true.

—

Patton woke to a scream strangled in his throat and hot tears in his eyes.

A dream. Just a dream. … A memory?

No, that dream– it couldn’t have been a memory. It couldn’t have been. It hadn’t been like the others, where he felt like a real person, like himself, and only realized it was a dream when he woke up. This one was different.

He had watched from the eyes of– of Lightshow, fine, he could admit that much. But the shift of his gaze, the wave of his hand, the step of his feet? Patton hadn’t been able to control any of it. He’d been forced into the position of a silent spectator, trapped in place, forced to watch as his body moved and fought and burned.

It wasn’t a memory. Those weren’t his thoughts. It was just a nightmare, a normal run-of-the-mill nightmare, constructed by his mind as some twisted response to stress. He was feeling guilty over not telling them, and his brain had taken it too far, that was all.

It had to be just a nightmare.

Patton tried to calm his breathing, to lay back down, but Umbra’s expression at that last moment flickered into view every time he closed his eyes.

Eventually, he gave up, just like he had that first night, and climbed out of bed. On the nightstand, the clock’s digital numbers glared up at him; three AM. Maybe he could figure out something really fiddly and time-consuming to make for breakfast. Maybe Umbra would help!

To his surprise, when he rapped quietly on his door (to avoid ‘scaring the life out of’ Umbra the way he had that first night) and poked his head out, there was no hooded figure sitting next to his door, back against the wall.

Had the other two finally convinced him to stop keeping watch on Patton? Or…

A sudden jolt of foreboding ran down his spine, and he pulled the door open wider, looking up and down the hall. Nobody was there. Had something happened to him?

Patton hesitated; they’d never explicitly told him to stay in his room while they were sleeping, but it only made sense that they’d want a potential threat contained. If he started wandering around now, would they be upset with him?

A flicker of that memory flashed in his mind’s eye again, and it was enough for him to force his shoulders firm and cross the threshold. A potential punishment wasn’t important. Not when Umbra could be in danger.

He hurried down the hall, only registering the sound of lowered voices a beat after he’d burst into the common area.

Remus was laying on the couch, flat on his stomach with his face buried in his arms, and above him on the back of the couch–

“Umbra,” Patton said, unable to contain the relief that swept through him. It didn’t even matter if he was in trouble for breaking the rules. Umbra was here, he was alright, he was safe.

The hero in question blinked at him in surprise for a moment before frowning, more confused than upset. “Lightshow? What are you doing up?”

Remus popped his head up, craning it back at a painful-looking angle to grin at him. “Glowbug!”

Patton smiled back and drifted a few steps closer automatically before stopping short, remembering that he had yet to explain himself. He opened his mouth.

“You weren’t there.” … That wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all. That wasn’t an explanation, that was an accusation!

Before he could start panicking, Umbra raised his eyebrows questioningly, and then seemed to put it together. “Oh. Yeah, I left to help Remus. Figured you probably weren’t going to get up and murder us all on only two hours of sleep.”

“Unless…?” Remus drew the word out suggestively, and Umbra jabbed his heel into his back in retaliation. Neither of them seemed upset at him, not even a little.

Patton dared to step a little closer, shaking his head and showing them his empty hands as proof that he had no murder plans. Remus pouted, letting his head flop forward once more.

“Help with what?” he asked, watching the way Umbra was applying pressure to Remus’s back curiously.

Umbra stiffened a little, narrowing his eyes at him the same way he always did when he thought Patton overstepped in his questions (which was frequently), but Remus didn't hesitate to answer in his place.

“Power malfunction,” he said, his nasally voice muffled through the couch cushion he was talking against. “Couldn’t sleep, so Paramoan here is keeping me company.”

“I couldn’t sleep either,” Patton replied wryly. A power malfunction? “Are you… hurt?”

Both of them went oddly still, and Remus rolled over onto his side to shoot Patton an incredulous look.

“Wait, do you not know my power?” he asked. Patton flushed, embarrassed. “Holy shit, you don’t know my power!”

“Here we go,” Umbra said with an eyeroll, drawing his legs up and tucking them under him like a cat as Remus squirmed up into a sitting position. He was going to give a demonstration of his power. Patton felt dread begin to fill his lungs, making his breaths shallower.

“Behold,” Remus announced grandly, waving his arms and wiggling his fingers dramatically for a moment before slamming his hands together. He had his two hands fisted side-by-side, with a thumb poking out between his pointer and middle finger of his left hand.

… Wait a minute.

“Tada!” Remus crowed, pulling his fists apart to reveal that he’d ‘separated’ his thumb from his right hand. It was a classic grade school magic trick. Above him, Umbra was facepalming.

Patton muffled a chuckle, smiling good-naturedly. “Remus, I may not remember much, but I wasn’t born yesterday. I know that one.”

“Aw, damn. Well, here, for your troubles,” Remus said, and dropped the thumb into Patton’s hand.

The thumb. The single, unattached, warm thumb.

Patton looked up, eyes wide, and Remus waved at him gleefully. His right hand was conspicuously missing a digit.

The thumb in his hand wiggled.

A short, strangled shriek of terror escaped him. “Your thumb!”

“No, Patton. It’s your thumb now,” Remus told him solemnly, apparently completely unconcerned.

Patton skittered over to Remus with his hands cupped around the missing appendage, mind racing. Could a finger be reattached? Would it heal if they put the pieces back together!?

The others had jerked back at his approach, but Remus obligingly held still as Patton grabbed his injured hand and inspected the wound that would surely be gushing blood by now.

The wound that… wasn’t gushing blood at all, actually. Instead, there was a dark green patch where flesh and blood should have been, as though Remus’s insides were made of clay. When he looked down at the thumb in his other hand, the severed end of it looked the same.

“Superpowers,” Patton recalled out loud, and slumped over onto the couch as his utter panic faded. “I forgot about superpowers.”

Remus immediately started cackling at his expense, and even Umbra had his face turned away to hide amusement of his own. Abruptly, Patton realized that he was so exasperated that he’d forgotten to be scared. He hid a smile, waiting for Remus’s amusement to die down before holding his hand out.

“I’m sorry Remus, but I can’t accept this gift,” he said, offering the thumb back. “It’s too opposable.”

That had definitely been a snort from Umbra’s direction. Patton resisted the urge to fistpump.

“Ah, well,” Remus replied with a delighted grin, taking the thumb back and reattaching it to his hand with ease. “You win thumb, you lose thumb.”

Patton cracked up. “I can’t believe you!”

“Just be grateful he didn’t do ‘pull my finger’ instead,” Umbra told him, shaking his head, the beginnings of a smile on his face. “He pulled that one on me and I threw the finger at him.”

“So cruel!” Remus agreed enthusiastically. “I mean, on one hand, I was wounded. But on the other hand, I was fine.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Umbra grabbed the nearest throw pillow and attempted to smother Remus with it. The homicide attempt was accompanied by snorting laughter, though, so Patton thought it was probably fine.

He hoped so, anyways: he was too busy laughing himself to perform a rescue.

[youryanderedaddy]

Every breath you take

You heard of Corpse husband, now get ready for corpse wife--

tw: female reader, necrophilia so non - con, murder, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, dirty talk, overall nasty shit that i needed to get out of my system, pls don't read if such stuff makes u uncomfortable

Jack couldn’t bear to look at you without feeling his stomach crumble and twist sharply and violently. You looked almost normal. Besides the empty stare in your now dark lightless eyes and the dead weight of your arms stilled tightly by your side. Besides the necklace of pretty sky - coloured bruises and purple bite marks around your delicate neck. If your boyfriend was to simply press his lips against yours in a desperate attempt to savour your final cries, he might just be able to feel their silky softness - the smooth edges of your tiny side smile against his cheek, the pure scarlet warmth of your slightly open mouth and the millions pained whispers falling out with each heartbeat of your very soul. And If the man was to hold your hand he could pretend it wasn’t colder than ice itself.

It was an accident. It had to be, otherwise Jack wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Just minutes ago you were safe and sound in his embrace, screaming, thrashing and fighting at every turn, but still safe none the less. Then you had told him you hated him. That you could never love someone as cruel and sick as him. He didn’t remember much from the resulting argument, other than him on top of you with his hand around your throat, your lips turning blue and your eyes closing slowly as you lost consciousness completely. Your boyfriend was ready to give everything for you to shout at him again, for you to squirm around like a battered animal like you used to, insead of watching you lay on the ground, motionless and still, peaceful like an angel. He wanted the old you back, the you who wasn’t quite living (since you always went on about how Jack had stolen your life away from you), but breathing and alive. You were quiet and obedient just like your captor had always wanted, such a good girl for him now that you were dead and unable to protest any of his sick, twisted desires. 

A single tear ran down the man’s black charcoal eyes as he lowered his head and kissed you softly, careful and wary, like you would wake up any moment and push him away in horror. The graze was airy and almost sweet, so different from all the other rough invasive kisses he had forced upon you in the past as a reminder of your place beneath him. Yet this one tasted of nothing, but blood and ice. Your lips were cold, but your body was still warm somewhere under that flimsy blue sundress your boyfriend had helped you put on in the morning. It made you look so innocent, so childlike in your eternal sleep. Jack stared at you for what felt like an infinity, unable to look away, hypnotized. He ran a finger through your exposed collarbone, then laid his head on your chest, listening to the silence. You were dead, but your breasts were still so soft and squishy, the man decided. Jack’s hands were glued to your waist, admiring your curves as he dug his nails deep into the loose fabric, ripping it away from your figure, causing shivers down the delicate skin. Your back hit the ground, sinking into the soil and the mud, a couple of daisies forming a crown above your head. You were so beautiful all vulnerable like that, his sweet Persephone, queen of the underworld and of his heart, too. 

“You’re so lovely, dear.“ The man spoke out as he positioned himself above you, his eyes hungry and sharp as he stroked your cheek, devoid of any colour. “No panties, huh?“ Jack whispered lustfully, his voice raspy and deranged, and cupped your sex. If you were still alive you would have turned red, stuttering as you explained that it was him who ordered you to go bare under the dress, but now you remained quiet like a blushing bride on her wedding day. The lack of protest only managed to stir the maniac up further, and he unbuckled his jeans to free his half - hard member. “LIttle minx.“ He cooed at you and ruffled your hair, fisting your locks to pull your head down, thus arching your back and exposing your neck to his sharp teeth. “I am going to use you, precious. You want to be useful to me, don’t you?“ Your boyfriend muttered against your throat as he covered it in harsh lovebites and hickeys, only growing satisfied when there wasn’t even an inch unmarked. “Because you are mine, baby. You are my good girl.“ He kept going, stroking himself in the process until his cock was practically oozing with pre - cum. Jack smirked when he didn’t hear the typical whimpers and cries of disgust you usually showered him in when he let himself act possessive of you. The man wasn’t sure why you always denied the truth - you were his and his alone, even after death did you part.

Your tormentor spent the next ten minutes squeezing and kneading your breasts, pinching the nipples, covering them in sticky white semen. Jack almost missed the way your chest would rise and fall with each soft breath escaping your rosy lips. When he was done playing with your body like you were nothing more than a rag doll your boyfriend spread your legs wide open, and his mouth watered at the godly sight. “You have such a pretty cunt, dear.” He commented lovingly, his fingers pushing and poking at your pink slit, abusing the nerve ending still functional despite its owner not being able to. “I am doing to force my cock deep inside your pussy, and there is nothing you can do about it, baby.” The man laughed manically, high off this new found power and control over your lifeless body. When you were alive you would beg him to stop by this point, crying and whimpering helplessly. Now he could pretend that you actually wanted him to ruin you. That you needed him as much as he needed you. 

Your boyfriend entered your tight hole with a sharp deep thrust, his lenght reaching your cervix with each and every brutal move. In and out, in and out again and again. The man felt like he could fuck into you forever - there was no pressure to stop and your muscles were completely relaxed now so it was up to him to take his own pleasure from your unwilling uncooperative body. “You’re so loose, honey.” He growled, biting your earlobe and moaning into your ear. “Guess I really wore you out the past few months.” Jack suggested playfully, a hint of pride apparent in his thick voice. Soon enough he was groaning loudly and ruthlessly pounding into you, covering your whole body in mud and grass. The pale moonlight lit up your sweaty face, making you look lively and vibrant once again. Your captor claimed your lips hungrily, licking and biting them into a swollen bloody mess. “Fuck, take it, my love.” He commanded as he lifted your body in order to go even deeped into you. “Take all of me inside.” The man added quickly, thrusting one last time before the pleasure overtook his senses and he arched his back in delight. He inhaled deeply as he pulled out of your used up hole, dripping with his seed. 

In that moment the man knew that he had to let go of you eventually. It wouldn’t be too long before your perfect little body decomposed and your beauty faded in the face of death, but there was some time between now and then. And he intended to make good use of it. 

[randomidiocyncrazies]

Gwitch ep 2 impressions

just finished watching the 2nd episode of The Witch from Mercury. I’m excited about the worldbuilding, and am mostly excited about where things will be going.

ep 2 spoilers ahead

I’m glad the Gundam issue is immediately picked up; given how Gundam tech being forbidden is such a big deal, it would’ve been a plot hole if they hadn’t dealt with it.

in the immortal words of Iori Miyazawa:

I hope Elan’s whole “i’ll never fall in love” thing is a misdirection, and that it doesn’t indicate he will become romantically interested in Suletta... but honestly who knows. I do believe the Suletta-Miorine dynamic will continue to be the most important one of the show, and I guess I’ll live with it if he does fall for her (as long as it’s not endgame), but I’m just. really hoping we don’t have to deal with another male character coming in between our girls. (Guel isn’t really a real threat to the girls’ relationship, but he’s gonna be trying to win Miorine back. How annoying he’d be about it remains to be seen.)

well... Aerial is sentient in some way, and Elan is interested in GUND tech... so maybe he’ll fall for Aerial??? (i’m mostly joking.) might also be interesting if it’s setting up some other type of romantic complication due to the oppressive system they’re in. (like... we see Miorine being forced into marriage/engagement without her consent; although the potential fiances—aside from Suletta—seem to have given their informed consent to participate, it’s unclear if their consent was given reluctantly, and whether they are likewise ‘forced’ to participate in the duels in order to uphold the capitalist machine.)

on a brighter note, the stuff we see of the world-building is quite interesting: there is discrimination against earthians among the student body, and there are people who aren’t happy about the current state of affairs:

in the prologue, Professor Nabo said that GUND technology was originally developed for space, as human bodies aren’t strong enough to endure the conditions there. GUND was originally used for prosthetics/medical use, which is the ‘official’ business plan of the Mercury Shin Sei Corp, which Suletta’s mom runs under an alias (i’ll eat my arm if ‘Lady Prospera’ isn’t her).

the prohibition of GUND-arms (gundams) and the discrimination against Earthians are probably linked. Since it looks like Gwitch’s setting is post-national and implied to run on a ‘Corpocracy’ (where companies own and run territories like a business depending on how well they perform, as well as decide anything of note), i look forward to how the show tackles the role of capitalism in racism, ableism(?) and other inequalities.

on that note, i appreciated seeing what happened to Guel after he lost the duel, and it gave more context to his previous behavior. in ep 1, Guel’s loses his shit when Miorine called him “daddy’s lapdog”

and in ep 2, we see him get hit by his father for losing the duel, thus disgracing the family/company (and inadvertently foiling his plan to assassinate Delling+stage a legal takeover):

the emphasis is on both the family and the company (if i have to pick, i think the company’s honor is framed as the more important thing here): the main point seems to be that he lost using a Jeturk MS, and the fact that he’s a member of the Jeturk family is an additional mark of failure.

with the added context, it’s clear that Guel’s nightmarish behavior in ep 1 is learned behavior in a cycle of abuse—the Jeturk patriarch probably ‘disciplined’ Guel’s mother, like how Guel threatened to do to Miorine. It’s a good way to show that abuse run rampant when everything—and everyone—are just tools to promote the company/CEO’s standing under this capitalist hellscape. Guel (like Saionji in Utena) is both a perpetrator and victim of the abusive system.

I... don’t really want him to get a ‘redemption arc’ necessarily? I think it’s fine if he never tries to escape the system, and instead tries to ‘win’ at it even after realizing how fucked up it is (assuming he comes to some sort of realization). I mean, it’s fine if he does decide to deliver a big Fuck You to the system later on, but I don’t think it’s necessary (and it’s extremely unlikely that he wouldn’t just double-down on his current mentality, unless something extreme happens).

also, Miorine coming to Suletta’s rescue (by giving her a chance to save Aerial) and calling her shitty old man out was so awesome? love their dynamic, love marginalized girls supporting marginalized girls :V

[helliontherapscallion]

Surprises (Sweet Betrayal Part 2)

Part 1     Part 3     Part 4

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, alcoholism, abuse (physical and mental), depression, suicidal thoughts

Word count: 3,587

A dash of madness is what’s needed to get things done. It was the thing that caused Manberg to rise from the ashes of its terrible leadership prior to Schlatt, and it was going to be the thing that fixes the aftermath of the meddling of your ‘brothers’. At least that's what you thought on the matter. 

It was a bit hard to form rational thought when reminders of your brothers were everywhere. The buildings that stood populating the city were built by them. The dents and scratches on the wood of the stage were caused by them. Your bloodstain on the concrete was caused by them. The burn scar that took up half of your face and the now clouded blind eye was caused by them. You couldn’t even look in the mirror without being reminded of them; it was like they followed you everywhere you went. Tormenting you with every step you took. With every breath you took you were breathing in the same putrid air they breathed. The air would be purified once you were done with them. 

The only person you actually trusted nowadays was Schlatt. Oftentimes he would yell at you in a drunken rage, telling you that you were useless and undeserving of love. His words hurt you unbelievably, but he would always apologize in the morning. He had hit you occasionally leaving bruises and a fear of anybody moving too fast, but he had always apologized to you so you brushed it off. He was the first person that had shown you actual love after all. He was still the loving man he was before the presidency. 

He would do the same to your other father Quackity. You both comforted each other after he would do that. He confessed to you one night through tears that you were the only thing tethering him to his marriage with Schlatt. It was something you couldn’t understand; why would he ever want to leave Schlatt when he would apologize to you two every single time? It wasn’t like he could control his alcoholism. It had a grip on him that he couldn’t shake. 

You weren’t there when Quackity had killed Schlatt, as you were roaming the streets of Manberg at the time, but you were there when he ran into you in a panic. 

You were walking past Niki’s deserted bakery with a skip in your step and a smile on your face. The sight of the broken glass and the looted remains of the building took away most of the stress that living in and governing Manberg brought you. The citizens and the cabinet had grown distrustful of you and Schlatt, making it hard for you to get any work done. You had taken up most of the responsibilities of the presidency due to Schlatt falling off the deep end with his alcoholism and truth be told everything was stressing you out. You needed to keep smiling, you’re never fully dressed without one. 

You came to a halt in front of the bakery, your hand reaching up to graze the scarred skin on the right side of your face. The once relaxed smile that gently stretched your lips turned strained. ‘Don’t cry, you’re never fully dressed without a smile!’ A soft voice sang in your mind, his light laughter reminiscent of happier times. He would not be happy with the path you’ve taken. Oh well, you liked who you were now; he just needs to put up with it when you see him again.

Your thoughts were interrupted by something, or rather someone, colliding with you. You were about to fall onto the glass-strewn pavement before someone caught you and pulled you into a tight embrace. You couldn’t see who it was, but their jacket smelled like a mixture of blood and cologne. Their shoulders were bouncing as they sobbed into your shoulder. Papá?

You felt his wings embrace you fully, much like they did during the festival. You awkwardly rubbed his back until he calmed down enough to pull away from you. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, face blotchy, and a swollen lip graced his face. Your dad was probably just drunk again. 

You tried your best to smile at him gently, the smile threatening to falter. “Papá? Is Dad drunk again?”

“We have to get you out of here, mijo.” He tried to grab your hand to pull you with him but you moved it out of the way. You needed to know what was happening. You didn’t like not knowing what was happening.

“Why do you have blood on you, where are you bleeding?” Schlatt’s never made you or Quackity bleed before, so this was new. He was probably drunker than he usually was. 

You watched as his dark brown eyes flicked down to his bloodied hands and clothes before they flicked back up looking more panicked. “It’s not mine. C’mon, we need to get out of here.”

This time, he firmly grabbed your hand and started to pull you towards the borders of Manberg. Towards Pogtopia. You weren’t ready to enact your plans for the brothers yet, so you dug your heels into the ground. That didn’t stop the man, in fact he pulled you close to his body and spread his wings to take off into the cloudy sky. Before he could, you pushed him away. 

“Papá, who’s blood is it?” You already knew, your voice was shaking and the smile had completely faded. Surely, he couldn’t be dead again, right? Quackity’s face told you all you needed to know. Schlatt was dead. 

Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you whispered “what happened?”

“He- it doesn’t matter. Come with me, I’m leaving this place,” he spat out the last word with hatred. “It isn’t too late for you, Pogtopia-”

“Pogtopia? You’re seriously going to that pathetic excuse of a ‘country’?” You barked out a somewhat forced laugh, the smile finding its rightful place on your face. “Are you stupid? Why would you ever leave a nation as prosperous as Manberg?”

“Can’t you see? Look around you, this nation’s crumbling under Schlatt’s rule! How is that ‘prosperous’?”

“Did you hit your head or something? Our nation’s thriving under Schlatt’s leadership!”

“He isn’t even fucking leading! All he’s doing is getting drunk off his ass having you do all the dirty work! He’s using you, (y/n).”

“Shut the fuck up Quackity,” he flinched back slightly at the use of his first name being thrown about, “Dad’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and you, you’re so stupid to just throw him away when he needs us the most.”

He put his hands on your shoulders and gripped them tightly to avoid you ripping yourself out of his grasp. He looked you dead in the eyes with the most sincerity you’ve ever seen from someone. “(Y/n), we tried to help him. We did our best, but he’s too far gone. He isn’t the person we knew; the presidency no, this nation, changes people. If you stay, he’s gonna… You have to come with me to Pogtopia. Your brothers-”

“They aren’t my brothers.”

“-Wilbur, Tommy, and everyone else that used to live in Manberg is on their side. You’ll get killed if you stay.”

You tilted your chin up and looked down at him with cold eyes and your signature smile. “Then so be it. I will see to it that anyone cowardly enough to run when things get the slightest bit tough will be taken care of,” his grip on your shoulders loosened for a moment in shock at your words. That was all the time you needed, you ripped yourself out of his grip and turned to walk away leaving the devastated man in your wake. You stopped and turned your head to look at him through the corner of your good eye, “I suggest you run as far as you can, P- Quackity. It would be a shame if I had to kill you if you stayed a second longer. Get the hell out of my nation, traitor.” With that you turned back around and started walking again. After a few seconds, you finally heard him move. 

“I’ll be back for you, I promise. I-I love you, mijo.” You heard the ruffling of feathers and the batting of wings behind you as he left Manberg. The smile on your face was wobbly and weak as tears started to slip out of your eyes. You took a second to compose yourself before you broke off into a sprint towards the White House, passing a few Rutabagaville members and Badlanders stopping to look at you in confusion. Your dad needed you.

After that, you slowly began to question Schlatt’s words, especially when he was drunk. Now that you paid attention, he never said that he loves you anymore. He only had you do his work, the only things he would talk to you about anymore was about the upcoming war and how useless you were as he berated the paperwork you had no idea how to do. There were no more talks about how you mattered, no more side hugs, hair tousles, or soft headbutts, nothing. Maybe he was using you after all. 

So here you were, standing in front of his office with a shaking hand hovering over the oak doors. The smile on your face was incredibly forced, feeling painful for holding it for so long. Just as you mustered the courage to knock on the ram hybrid’s door, it swung open to reveal the hybrid himself.

Your father was swaying on his feet as he looked at you in surprise, “I thought I gave you the night off. Ender, can’t even get your own schedule right? Why’re you even working for me?” You could smell the alcohol on his breath and it reeked. You shrunk in on yourself slightly eyeing the bottle in his hand. The last time he yelled at you he smashed you in the head with it. You forgave him obviously, but it left you with fear whenever you saw a glass bottle in his hand. It happened only last week shortly after Quackity left. The gashes it left on your face and head were still healing. 

Since Quackity left and he went through yet another death, Schlatt had become more irritable, paranoid, and violent. He started yelling at and hitting you more, crying and begging afterwards for you to forgive him. He promised that he’d never do it again, but he always did. You always forgave him in the end because he was the only one that loved you and the only one that you actually talked to anymore. You craved any type of physical touch from your adoptive dad at this point, you didn’t care if it was violent or not. Any touch was a happy touch.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you Dad, but I was wondering if you wanted to hang out with me tomorrow for my birthday.”

“Birthday? BIRTHDAY?” He barked out a drunken laugh, his words slurring together. “You want me, the leader of a nation during a fucking war, to take a second off just because of one day that never should’ve happened?”

You fiddled with your fingers and shuffled your feet, struggling to keep the trace of a smile on your face. You couldn’t lie, that one stung a bit. If you didn’t know any better, you’d compare it to how you were treated at your previous family’s home. You’d never compare Schlatt to those cowards though. He was far better than them. “I’m sorry Dad, but I just thought that I’d celebrate it this year, I’m turning six-.”

“Awe, is it gonna hurt your wittle feewings if I told you that I don’t care? Wake up, (y/n). We’re in the middle of a war. We don’t have time to celebrate anything. You and I are working tomorrow. Now get out of my face before I fire your sorry ass for unprofessionalism and misconduct.”

“Okay, goodnight Dad. Love y-” before you could finish, the door was slammed in your face. You could hear him laughing and mumbling incoherently to himself from behind the thick oak doors. Sighing, you turned around and walked straight into your office. You took out a rope from your desk drawer and stared at it blankly. 

It’d be so easy to off yourself again. If you made the noose properly unlike last time, your neck would snap and you’d be killed immediately instead of slowly suffocating. No one would stop you, no one would care. Schlatt would. He loved you like you were his biological kid. You fantasized that as you were about to jump off your desk that he’d open your door and attempt to apologize before he would realize what was going on and comfort you. He’d hold you like he did before he won the election telling you that your life mattered. You’d give anything for that to happen, but in the deepest darkest corner of your mind you knew that it’d never happen. He’d just drown himself in alcohol not realizing what’s happening in the room down the hall. Hell if anything, Karl would be the one to find your hanging corpse as he had a meeting with you first thing in the morning.

Besides, you had to live to carry out your plan to murder Tommy and Wilbur. You obviously wouldn’t be able to kill Philza or Technoblade because the former is immortal and the latter is, well he’s Technoblade (though you have been talking to Dream more lately. Maybe you could ask for a favor). That didn’t worry you; they’d probably kill you on sight once they’ve heard that their precious boys have been brutally murdered by you. You didn’t care if they killed you afterwards, your mission would be complete. It’d be a devastating blow to the family (if you could even call it that at that point, it’d be just father and son), something that’ll take them a while to recover from. 

You put the rope back into your desk drawer and curled up onto the couch you had in the corner of your office. Wrapping yourself in the blanket you kept in a filing cabinet drawer, you quickly passed out.

The next day felt just like another day. You woke up, put on your suit, and started on some paperwork that you had to complete before the end of the day. You didn’t feel any different, it was just another day of trying to keep this nation afloat during wartime while juggling two jobs at once. Schlatt was right, your birthday was just another day. You felt silly for confronting him about it last night. It was stupid of you to do, all you could hope now was that he’d forgive you.

A knock on the door made you look up and plaster a smile onto your face. “Come in.” Karl’s messy mop of brown hair came into view before he did. Like usual, he had a dopey grin on his face and was wearing that ender awful hoodie. You hated that hoodie, it was unprofessional to wear in such an important government building. It looked like he was wanting to say something, he looked slightly anxious. Looking back down at your work, you quickly reorganized it. “Good morning, Mr. Jacobs. I’m assuming you’d like to walk and talk?”

“How-”

You walked over to him with a smile, “I can read people’s body language pretty well. Now let’s start our meeting. It’s not like we have all day.”

You both walked through the halls of the White House talking about what you usually talked about in meetings; progress reports, the extent of which Pogtopia is expanding, and brainstorming ideas on how to take the rebelling country down. The entire time he was casually throwing around jokes of which you would reply with a ‘stop messing around’ and quickly reel the conversation back in. Eventually, he stopped dead in his tracks in front of a spare room you and Schlatt used for storage. It was relatively empty inside with the exception of a few boxes. 

“Karl, why have you stopped? We still have much more to discuss before our meeting’s over.”

“Open the doors.”

“Wha-”

“Just do it! You’ll like what’s on the other side, I promise.” You eyed his excited smile suspiciously before you sighed, “fine, I guess I’ll entertain you just this one time. Don’t expect me to-” you cut yourself off as you saw what was behind the door. 

Grinning faces stared back at you. Each member of the Badlands and Rutabagaville were in the cramped little room. Well, it was cramped for Bad and Sam with their heights, the rest of them fit just fine. In Bad’s hands was a homemade cake with neat letters printed on the top in your favorite color. It read ‘happy 16th birthday (y/n)!’. 

You were frozen as Karl put a hand on your shoulder and gently nudged you inside the room closing the door behind him. You stayed frozen as they started to sing happy birthday to you, Karl and Sapnap competing to sing the highest note at the end of it. You stayed frozen as they looked at you expectantly waiting for you to blow out the candles. 

“Well? You gonna blow out the candles, gem?” Skeppy gestured with a hand to the cake, the flames’ light being bounced off his ridgid skin in a slight rainbow. 

“I-I don’t- We don’t have time for this, we’re in a war. I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do-”

“Nothing’s gonna happen if we celebrate for an hour,” Sam gently told you, “the paperwork can wait.”

“Yeah, you’re still a kid; you deserve to at least have an hour dedicated to you on your birthday,” Ant told you.

 You stayed there looking at them skeptically, you remembered how they looked at you during the festival. However unlike their looks of fear and disbelief they all wore during the festival, they were looking at you with warmth and empathy. You honestly didn’t know what to do, you haven’t celebrated your birthday since… well since him. By Ender, you missed him. 

“C’mon, imagine the fire is your enemy! Blow em out! Blow em out!” Skeppy chanted, the others joining in with encouraging smiles. Bad looked like he wanted to scold them for trying to pressure you, but he eventually joined in as well placing a giant clawed hand on your shoulder with a gentle smile and a nod towards the cake.

You hesitantly leaned forward and blew the candles out. The plumes of smoke that drifted off from the burnt wicks reminded you of the cigarettes Schlatt would smoke. The men in the room cheered with Ant gently patting your shoulder and Karl, Sapnap, and Skeppy cheering the loudest. Sam was clapping and giving you the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen from the creeper hybrid and Bad put his hand on your head and ruffled your hair. You could feel your forced smile turning genuine as you felt a warm joy bubble in your gut and spread through your body for the first time in years. 

“Good job, muffin! What’d you wish for?”

You craned your neck to look up at the demon in confusion, “I was supposed to wish for something?”

“Yeah! Haven’t you done this before?”

“No, can’t say I have. Am I supposed to wish for something now or am I too late?”

“It’s never too late, muffin. Go ahead, wish for something,” Bad gave you a small smile. You nodded and stared at the cake intensely raking your brain for something to wish for. The only thing that you truly wanted was for Tommy and Wilbur to finally die and for Technoblade and Philza’s lives to be ruined. That was the only way you’d be happy, so you opened your mouth only to have a frantic Skeppy cut you off, “no! If you say it out loud, it won’t come true!”

“Alright, I’ll keep it to myself then.” 

After you ate some cake (it’s been a while since you’ve had the sweet, it was tastier than you remembered), you tried to glance at the clock only to be blocked by Ant, “relax, Schlatt’s out today. You can spend as much time here as you want.”

“He’ll find out, my Dad’s been stressed lately. I-”

“Kid, you work your ass off twenty four seven. You’re almost never out of your office.”

“Language Sapnap! But… he has a point though. You need a break. You shouldn’t have to worry about this kind of stuff, you’re still a kid.”

“Loosen up a bit! I’ll put on some music, what do you usually listen to?” Karl grinned widely at you gesturing to the jukebox in the corner of the room. You saw some records laying around on top of one of the boxes. It looked like there was a full collection of them. 

“I don’t usually listen to music. I don’t really have the time for it, but uh, you can pick out anything as long as it’s not Cat or Mellohi.” You hated those discs with a burning passion. It was like you could still hear the muffled medlies drifting through the walls in your childhood home. 

Once Karl put on a disc, some fast paced harmonized notes sounded from the machine. 

“Let’s fuckin party!” Sapnap shouted.

“Language!”

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[neonacity]

LUCID | NCT DREAM ‘00 LINE X READER | CH.6

LUCID DREAMS - A TYPE OF DREAM WHEREIN THE PERSON IS AWARE THAT THEY ARE CAUGHT IN A DREAM WORLD.

Summary: It was supposed to be a harmless, professional transaction. You were to tutor a group of boys, get your pay at the end of the day, and go home to your loving fiance. Kids aren’t supposed to be dangerous, right? So why, then, are you caught up in a web of madness that slowly makes you feel like you’re in a living nightmare?

NOTE:This is a yandere plot featuring NCT Dream ‘00 line which means there will be mature themes in the story as well as obsessive, toxic behavior. If you’re a minor, please refrain from interacting. If this isn’t your thing, then just scroll and skip. In no way am I condoning anything written here— this is not love, this is obsession—nor do I think that any of the people mentioned here will act any way like in this story. This is purely a work of fiction.

Genre: yandere, horror, suspense

TW: abuse, obsessive behavior, toxic relationships, suggestive scenes, stalking, possible kidnapping, mental health. Age gap–though nothing dramatic. Everyone is of legal age, drugs, slight smut for this chapter but nothing graphic, questionable consent (?) I guess? Creepy, creepy, creepy! This will be updated as the story goes along.

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5

“EVERYONE HAS A DARKER NATURE. EVERYONE. GOOD MEN FEAR IT, AND EVIL MEN EMBRACE IT.” - JAMES ISLINGTON

The silent hum of the air conditioning filled the space like a foreboding chant. Nothing else but the sound of the hospital machinery and random noises outside pierced the stillness of the room as you stared, unseeing, at the green and orange numbers that blinked on the monitor above the bed. 

You barely have any recollection of how you managed to find yourself in the hospital, but you do remember brief memories of Taeyong picking you up from the floor you found yourself crumpled on after you got the call. You remember seeing Jaehyun's parents at a brightly lit corridor and his mother pulling you into a hug as she broke down and his father telling you how his son hasn't woken up since he was brought to the emergency room.

You remember your heart breaking in shock, mind too numb from the godforsaken pills you have been taking and your own injury. So many times you wondered to yourself if you were still caught in one of your nightmares, but every time you tried to break free from it, you're slapped back with the reality of how all of this is real.

Your fingers gently tightened on Jaehyun's hands now as your gaze landed on his face. He looked so peaceful, like he's just sleeping, that you almost wanted to bend over and try to kiss him awake. You don't even have any idea what time and day it is already, but you have barely left his side since you were brought to him. The nightmares and sleeplessness? They're barely a problem for you anymore because right now, you're entirely not resting at all unless your body forces you to crash from physical exhaustion. Even then, you usually only sleep for about two to three hours at best to make sure that you never miss a moment with your fiance.

"Severe traumatic head injury. He was lucky enough that the airbag shielded him from the worst of the impact."

The words of his attending doctor echoed in your head again like a faraway voice. You could only remember bits and pieces of what he said to his parents back then as he reported his findings, but you caught enough context for you to draw a picture of the situation. You remember Jaehyun's mother asking the chances of her son waking up again, her voice barely holding up from her emotions. 

"I cannot promise anything, Ma'm. I'd say he has a 60 percent chance. He's fighting."

And he is. You know Jaehyun inside out. He might be unconscious now, but there is no way he is giving up. Not from something like this. 

"Keep fighting baby…" you whispered in the stillness of the room as you lifted his hand gently to your lips to kiss. "I'll wait for you. We still have a wedding to do."

The slight creaking of the door barely made you look away from his sleeping face. You only did at the gentle sound of a throat clearing, your eyes slightly widening as you recognized the man who just walked inside the room. Taeil had the same mildly shocked look on him as he stopped on the  other side of the bed across from you. 

"You…"

"Are you a relative of the patient?" He asked now as he tucked his clipboard under his arm. You simply nodded, watching him quickly glance at the numbers on the monitor before his eyes settled on you again.

"I'm his fiancee."

That made him raise his brows slightly. He pulled a pen now from the pocket of his coat to quickly write something on his file. "What a coincidence. Not a good one obviously. I'm sorry to hear about him. Mr. Jung, right?"

You swallowed. You didn't want to acknowledge anything that he just said so you tried to divert the conversation instead.

"You're not his doctor. Why are you…"

"Oh. He was turned over to me today. I am one of the resident neurologists here but he had to be moved to me because his first doctor has too much in his plate already. Don't worry, I was briefed properly about his case."

Your gaze followed Taeil as he bent over to check Jaehyun's oxygen level as well as the other wires attached to him. You don't know what to feel about him taking over, but at least you already know him previously.

"Are there any changes? Positive ones?" You asked in a frail voice that Taeil definitely didn't miss. You told yourself to not act silly and ask questions that probably do not have answers yet, but you couldn't help yourself now. The man seemed to think over his words first, noticing your state, before calmly giving his reply.

"No particular ones, but the fact that there are no negative developments is… something. I will have to request for some tests to be done on him again tomorrow so we can see if there are positive changes in his brain."

Neutral. Not good, but at least it's not bad either.

"How are you? I was about to check on you again. Is your head okay?"

You were still thinking over his words that you barely caught his question. Looking up, you tried to scramble for an answer to give. To be honest, you haven't given proper attention to your own injury since this happened. You would even only remember to take your medications on your clearest, less anxious moments, which, honestly, isn’t a lot. 

"I'm uh… the wound has closed. But the headaches. They're still there."

He simply nodded. "Any other side effects?"

You didn't immediately answer. You didn't want to sound whiny, but it's not like you're going to lose anything by telling him the uglier parts of your recovery. You swallowed to try and dislodge the slight blockage in your throat.

"Nightmares…" you said now, voice soft. You briefly remembered the last one you had back in the manor before you woke up to the bad news and you felt your stomach turn again. "Lots of them. Hallucinations sometimes…"

The doctor watched you carefully and you know he is trying to compute things in his mind despite his face remaining calm.

"Have you been keeping to your schedule with your medications? Are you taking too much?"

You firmly shook your head no to his last question.

"No, I haven't been overdosing. But… I've been skipping my pills the last few days because of...because of this."

"How have you been feeling since you started missing your dosages then? Do you remember?"

That made you actually stop and think about it for a moment. Now that you are paying attention, you did notice how the nightmares have calmed down slightly. Even the hallucinations are almost gone. You frowned slightly to yourself.

"A bit… better actually."

Taeil took his time to observe you a bit more before writing something on a new page of his clipboard.

"You must have had severe reactions to the mixture of pills I gave you. I'm going to prescribe you new ones and ask the nurses to pick them up and bring them to you here. Can you promise that you'll try and take them though? You really need them to fully heal."

You nodded and gave him a slightly sheepish look.

"I will, thank you very much."

Taeil dug his hands into the pockets of his coat and gave you a gentle smile.

"Well, that's it for today. I'll come back tomorrow to give you updates about Mr. Jung." He had already turned and started walking away when he suddenly stopped to look at you again.

"Oh, and another thing. Please try and get some sleep. Recover… and then focus on helping your fiance."

******* You didn't really know what woke you up. Stirring from your sleep, the first thing that registered to you was the sound of distant traffic mixed with the gentle chirping of the morning birds from outside the window. A warm feeling radiated on your cheek and made the back of your eyelids glow red.

You flickered your eyes open and immediately rolled away to escape the ray of sunshine that slipped from the open curtains and shone directly at your face. You easily evaded it as you moved over to the other side of the bed which was empty and cold from the night before.

That was when you finally remembered that you were back in your home, in the same bedroom you share with Jaehyun. The day before, his mother offered to take the responsibility of watching over him so there was a sudden change of plans that finally gave you the reason to check back into your apartment after so long. If it were you, you would have preferred not leaving your boyfriend’s side until he wakes up, but you also knew that your future mother-in-law wanted to spend time with him so you relented. 

Of course you weren't thrilled to be home alone, especially with Jaehyun not being there, but the comfort that a real mattress provided—over the small couch you used to sleep in back at the hospital—is definitely a welcome change for your body. You even tried to take your medicine properly, the new ones that Taeil had provided, in the hopes of getting knocked down fast. Your adrenaline and anxiety had been fueling you in the past days, but you know from the way your heart thumped and your hands shook that you need a solid rest.

And you got it. You still feel a little groggy now but your body is definitely lighter and your head clearer. The nightmares didn't even come, and while they were replaced by total darkness or dreams in white that still made you anxious, you are willing to take those anytime over the graphic ones that you used to have.

You gently sat back against the headrest of the bed now and reached out for your phone to check the time. It's barely 7AM but as expected, Jaehyun's mom has already provided you with updates from the hospital. He’ll have some tests taken today as Taeil advised and then they’ll hear more about his progress. From the looks of it, she seems still set on watching over her son, which means you still have at least today free to yourself.

You quickly typed a reply to her and sighed. You’re thankful that even though you weren’t related by blood, his parents have always treated you as if you were their own. Having a family is not something you’ve really experienced in your childhood, so that’s something you’ve always appreciated about them. That is also the reason why you wish for the best out of this situation, because you also couldn’t bear seeing your fiance’s mother and father heartbroken. He’s their only son, after all.

A quick look around your room left you feeling empty. The last week has been so hard that it felt longer and now you’re struggling to find your normal pace again. In an effort to bring yourself to focus, you decided to pick up your phone once more and started flipping through your calendar to check your schedule. It didn’t take long for you to frown when you realized the upcoming dates there. You’ve plotted important academic schedules in advance and one quick look at it told you how much you’ve obviously missed in the past week. You’ve been so lost in the mess of everything that has happened that you’ve entirely forgotten about your job at the manor. You realized that they didn’t even call you once to ask about your absence, probably because they also know about the situation, but even that is not enough excuse for you to entirely fall off the radar.  

Biting your lip, you quickly scrolled through your contacts now to look for the number you need. Your thumb hovered over the call button momentarily, but you eventually pressed it anyway. Your eyes wandered towards the clock on the wall, hoping silently to yourself that it wasn’t too early for you to call.

“Rosewood Manor, how can I help you?”

You straightened on your seat.

“Hey, Taeyong. It’s me. Sorry if I called so early.”

The other boy seemed to have been taken slightly by surprise by the way he fell silent at the other end of the line. You tapped your finger against your knee, waiting for him to speak again.

“Hi. No, it’s fine. Work started for me about an hour ago. Are you okay? How’s things on your end?”

You nibbled guiltily on your lower lip and finally got off your bed to walk over to the window. You pushed the curtains open and stared at the slight snowfall that had started falling on the ground. You’ve missed so many days of reporting to them but the first thing he does is to check if you’re fine.

“I um—things are still the same. My boyfriend’s still at the hospital.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Look, I want to apologize. I haven’t really reported to work and I didn’t even call about it. It’s just that—things have been so crazy lately, but still that isn’t an excuse for me to just not show up.”

Taeyong, however, was understanding as always. You were about to go off for another round of apologies when he gently cut you off. 

“Hey, it’s fine. We know you’ve been dealing with a lot lately so we also weren't expecting anything. Don’t worry too much about it.”

“But, the boys’ examinations and portfolio review is happening in three days and I haven’t really checked in with them. How are they doing now?”

“Oh...that. Well, we actually tried looking for a temporary tutor to help out but I...uh… I think he isn't really cutting it. Maybe because he isn’t the one who started the program with them. But he’s a big help still.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry about that. I should have at least—look, I can drop by today and just try to fix things.”

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to. Don’t you need to be at the hospital?”

You started going around your room now, trying to gather the scattered papers and files that you’ll need. It’s a good thing you woke up early so you still have time to prepare for work. “My boyfriend’s mother is the one watching over him today so I have the day off.”

“And your injury? How is it?”

Your eyes landed on the new bottles of medicine sitting on your bedside table.

“Better. I’m feeling so much better.”

You heard Taeyong sigh in relief over the phone. “Thank god. We were so worried about that. Well, you really don’t need to go, but if you have time, I guess doing it today won’t hurt. It will help us a lot.”

A small smile tugged at your lips now and you switched the phone over to your other ear as you started arranging your bag. “Thank you so much for being understanding. I need a distraction anyway. I’d rather work than stay home alone… Thanks for not firing me.”

That made him laugh a little. “I’ll tell the boys that you’re coming over. Oh, and be careful on your drive here. The roads are a little bit slippery today because of the snow.”

“I will, thank you. I’ll be there by 9.”

******* “Noona!”

You have barely finished arranging your materials on your desk when the door to the room burst open and ushered an anxious-looking Jisung inside. You looked up quickly at him, only barely catching Chenle wobbling with his crutch before your vision of the entrance was blocked by Jisung’s tall frame. His hair looked swept up as if he ran and there was a slight flush staining his cheeks. He stopped right in front of you, stopping just in time for him not to topple you over.

“Hey, Jisung how are—” You tried to give him a smile but he was quick enough to grab your hands between his.  

“Are you back? Are you really back for real?” He pressed now, eyes wide as he tried to bend over to look closely at you. He looked like a puppy, the only missing thing being a wagging tail to complete the look. You couldn’t help the brief laugh that passed over you as you tried to calm him down.

“I am. For the day, yes. Sorry I missed so many of your sessions.”

“We thought you left us,” Jisung continued, his lower lip protruding just a bit. Just then, Chenle had finally reached the two of you, a slightly embarrassed look on his face. This is actually the first time you saw him again since the day the two of you had your accident and you’re glad to see him healthy despite his broken leg.

“Hi, Chenle. How are you?”

The boy scratched the back of his head and looked away slightly. “Fine… I’m sorry, noona. I wasn’t able to visit you when you stayed with us. I’m really really sorry about what happened in the forest.”

You tried to give him a reassuring smile and freed one of your hands from Jisung’s hold to ruffle his hair. The action seemed to have calmed him down a little because he finally looked at you again, a small apologetic smile on his own lips.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. But be careful next time, okay?”

“Are you going to be our tutor again, noona?” Jisung pressed once more and you turned your attention back to him. To be honest, you’re still not sure how your schedule will turn out after this, but you couldn’t really bear to break the poor boy’s heart at the moment.

“Yes… I’m here to teach your big brothers today for their tests though. We’ll have to schedule you and Chenle’s lessons again. Is that alright?”

A brief look of disappointment flashed on his face but he was quick enough to pick it up. Jisung smiled and gave your hand a squeeze.

“Okay. We can wait. It’s good you are back, Jaemin-hyung was so—”

“Yah, don’t hog her by yourself. You’ll scare her away.”

A new voice made the three of you look back to the doorway. Haechan smiled at your little group as he strolled casually into the room followed by Jeno and Jaemin. The three of them joined your crowd and you felt Jisung finally let go of your hand as he stepped away to go over to his brothers’ side.

“Hi. Sorry, I only returned now. Taeyong told me that you—”

You weren’t able to finish what you wanted to say as Haechan gently stopped you mid-sentence. He leaned his head to the side, eyes briefly scanning you from head to toe. Unlike Jisung, he looked calm and only barely excited.

“It’s fine. We knew you’ll come back. How are you?”

“Oh… I’m good. My head is better. I haven’t had the chance to thank all of you for taking care of me when I was here.”

“How about your boyfriend?” It was Jeno who asked this time and you quickly turned to him to address his question. Your eyes briefly slipped to Jaemin who was standing behind him before you could even speak though, and for a moment you had the impression that Jeno was shielding him—or blocking him from you. You blinked a little bit in confusion, wondering if it was just your imagination that was making you think that way.

“He’s still… still unconscious,” your smile dropped a little but you tried your best to keep your voice casual. “We’re getting more tests for him. His doctor said that he isn’t showing bad signs at least.”

“I’m so sorry to hear about him,” Haechan said with compassion and you gave him a grateful look. Your gaze settled on Jaemin again, however, who for some reason had barely looked at you since he came into the room. You know that he can be quiet and reserved at times, but there is something in the air around him that makes you slightly worried. He’s so still, but the way he carries himself makes it seem like he’s so strung up at the same time. It also doesn’t help that Jeno seems to be almost pushing him back from view.

“Hi Jaemin… How are you?” You tried to gently ask him to make sure that he is okay. He didn’t look at you at first, but when he finally did, you felt yourself freeze a little. His eyes looked dark and almost emotionless when he met yours and there were shadows under them as if he hadn't slept properly for days. He didn’t even answer and just simply stared, his gaze blank and accusing at the same time.

Haechan casually glanced over his brother and chuckled. “Our Jaeminie here has been sick for the past couple of days so he’s a little out of it. But he’s going to be fine now,” he put a hand over the other’s shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze as if to calm him down. “Right, Jaemin? We’ll try our best to go to class today since noona is finally back, hmm?”

Jaemin, however, didn’t even seem to hear him. He continued staring at you the same way that kept you pinned on your spot.

“Are you leaving again?” he finally asked and you almost felt goosebumps rise on your skin. It didn’t sound like a question… but more of a threat. You swallowed.

“I’m going to have to arrange my schedule till things get better…” you answered carefully, as if you’re navigating dark waters. That didn’t seem to cut it for him, unfortunately.

“So you’re not leaving. Forever?”

You blinked. To be honest, you’ve been thinking of quitting and just finishing the rest of the month if things didn’t improve, but you don’t think that’s the right answer to give at the moment.

“No… not for now,” you finally managed to say. You watched as Jaemin seemed to visibly relax, his stiff shoulders loosening under Haechan’s grip. He didn’t say anything after that, but he at least looked away, seemingly more satisfied with your words.

“Great. I think we should get to work,” Haechan broke the silence and looked around the room as if the tension you were feeling was just something only you could feel. He nodded towards Chenle and Jisung then. “You guys go back to your own classes. You’ll have your share of noona once it’s your turn.” He then glanced at you, smile still in place. “Should we start then?”

You nodded. “Is Renjun still not back?”

“Not yet. He’s going to be here tomorrow though,” Jeno answered as he took his seat on one of the desks.

“I see…”

Haechan also found his spot, but not before you’ve noticed him urging Jaemin to do the same. Playfully, he took the pencil you’ve arranged on the desk and started tapping it against the wood of the table.

“Don’t worry. We’ll tell him you’re back. I’m sure he can’t wait to have his lessons again~”

******* You looked over the window for the third time in the last fifteen minutes and sighed. The day had been busy with you trying to catch up on the boys’ lessons that you barely even noticed the state of the weather outside. When you finally did, it took you by surprise when you saw how much of the ground was covered by snow—one look at it told you that it is at least a feet deep by now. Your first instinct was to try and maneuver your car out of the lot before your tires get entirely buried in it, but then you remembered that you promised to wait for Taeyong to come back before leaving the manor. The butler requested for you to temporarily watch over the manor while he tries to do some last minute errands back in the city, but it’s been two hours since he originally promised to come back. You eyes glanced at your watch now, then back at the quickly darkening view outside. 

“...severe snowstorm has blocked some of the main roads in the city at the moment. Expect heavy traffic and don’t forget to drive safely.”

You turned to the television now to catch the last of the rambling dialogue of the reporter about the weather. You’ve been debating on whether to call Taeyong or not to check on him, but you didn’t want to seem impatient to go home when you only really wanted to make sure if he’s safe. From the looks of it, he’s stuck somewhere because of the hale, too.

You were on your way to get your phone from your bag to at least try to shoot him a message when you suddenly heard it ring. Getting it just in time, you almost sighed in relief when you saw his number there. You quickly took it and went over to the window to answer it to make sure you get some proper signal.

“Hello? Taeyong?”

“Hey. Finally. I’ve been trying to call you for the last hour, thank god it finally connected.”

“Oh, sorry, my phone’s in my bag. I think the signal’s getting bad because of the snowstorm. Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, about that, I’m still stuck in town. The traffic’s so bad here because a section of the main road is blocked. Road maintenance is supposed to come thirty minutes ago but I think there’s a delay because there are other roads they are working on.”

Your gaze drifted back to the television where scenes of the same blocked avenues were being flashed. “Yeah… the news says the same.  Are you safe though?”

“I am. I’m really sorry for making you wait. I’d tell you to drive back and not wait for me anymore but I don’t think you’ll also make it home in time with all this traffic going on. I don’t think it’s going to be safe. Do you mind waiting for a little bit more? I’ll tell you once the roads are better.”

You thought it over quickly, a frown settling on your face. You really want to go home, but he’s right. There’s no point in trying to drive back if you’ll only find yourself stuck in the roads for hours. Not being a big fan of night driving yourself, you can already imagine the stress waiting for you if you add a snowstorm to the mix. As much as you wanted to leave, you’re left with no choice, at least for the moment.

 “I can… I’ll just wait for you, I guess. Do you want me to do anything here while you’re gone? Dinner for the boys?”

“Oh no, no, you don’t need to do that, that’s not part of your job,” Taeyong sounded abashed when he said that. You stepped away from the window then and took a seat by the fireplace that Jeno started earlier. Half of your concentration was on the news which has now shifted to a different set of reports also caused by the snowstorm. “They’ll know when to go down and eat. Don’t worry about them. Where are they right now?”

“Ah, I think they went back to their rooms? I did tell them earlier that I’ll try to wait for you.”

“I see. Yes, I think that’s better. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you updated. If things don’t get better, I think I’ll have no other choice but find a hostel here and wait for the weather to calm down. You can stay there and just ask for help from any of them. You can stay in the same room just in case.”

You didn’t quickly react to the offer. Instead, your eyes flickered to the doorway of the room before refocusing your attention back to the conversation. It’s not like you have anything against spending the night again at the manor—you’ve done it before, after all—but it’s honestly not really something you’re comfortable to do again. Maybe it’s because you’ve never really been okay with overstaying at strangers’ houses but your gut feel is also telling you right now that it shouldn’t be your top option regardless of the situation you are in.

Still, you didn’t want to come off rude to Taeyong, not when he is only being kind to offer you temporary shelter while being stuck in the middle of nowhere himself. So instead, you went against your initial doubts and offered him your thanks in return. It’s just Plan B that he’s proposing after all. 

“I will. Keep me updated though if you need anything you think I can help with.”

“Thank you and I will. I have to go now though. Please make yourself at home. I’ll try to call again after an hour.”

“Okay. Take care.”

You put your phone down now with a worried frown as you heard the line drop. You couldn’t believe this is happening the first day you got back to work but it’s not like you can really blame anyone for it. The only good thing is that you’re sure Jaehyun is being taken care of right now so that is at least one thing off your shoulders. You didn’t really need to rush anywhere, not especially to a vacant home. Leaning back against your seat, you tried your best to relax as your gaze travelled around the room once again. You deliberated on sending a text to your mother-in-law to tell her about your situation but decided against it, not wanting to worry her more. You sighed. For now, you guess you didn’t have any other choice but to wait.

You did try to distract yourself by watching the news for a few more minutes before finally giving up on it. With resignation, you picked yourself up from your seat again and turned the television off. For a moment you simply stood in the middle of the room, trying to figure out what to do with your time when your gaze settled on the door again. Everyone retreated to their own rooms after they finished with their lessons so it means the house is pretty much yours for exploring if you wanted to. You toyed with the idea for a little bit, before finally resigning yourself to it. It’s not like there really is anything else left for you to do, and Taeyong did say you can make yourself feel at home if you wanted to. With a sigh, you finally turned on your heels to leave the room and peered silently into the hallway. It was deserted as expected, but still your eyes travelled left and right to check if there’s anyone out and about at this hour. It was only after you made sure that you were alone when you finally allowed yourself to step into the corridor.

Of course, you have a plan. You’re pretty much sure that checking out the rooms on the first floor is acceptable since it’s where you’ve been rotating your classes so you��re going to stick to those areas. You remember finding a library there once and you focused on finding your way to it to maybe check out some of the books in the collection. 

It did take you about five minutes to finally find the place you were looking for. For some reason, the sections in the manor always confuse you no matter how many times you try to memorize each one, probably because of how big and similar-looking they are on the outside. You’ve already tried four doors when you were finally welcomed by the familiar-looking bookshelves at the fifth one. You sighed and gave one quick look around the room before slipping yourself inside after making sure that you’re alone.

There will probably never be a time when you won’t find yourself fascinated by anything in this grand home. If the architecture of the mansion is not enough to convince anyone how rich the family is, their book collection is enough to assure that at the very least. You’ve only ever taken a quick glimpse of it once during one of your lessons with the boys, but one look of the titles in their shelves is enough to make any literature major excited. You looked at the floor to ceiling collection now, your fingers gently running over the spines of the books you could reach with a small smile on your face.

You were about to check out the rest of the collection on the other side of the wall when something in the middle of the room caught your attention. You didn’t really catch it at first because of the shadows that concealed it when you first came in, but you could pretty much discern the outline of a blanket covered standee now from where you stood. You frowned. Taking careful steps, you closed the distance towards it to try and figure out what exactly it is that you’re seeing.

A closer look revealed it to be an easel covered with white cloth. You could see the outline of the canvas where the blanket falls over it while shadows of colors peeked out into the thin fabric from the surface it was covering. How odd… you knew that Renjun had a different art room for his paintings so to see this now here in the middle of the library seems uncanny.

You didn’t know how long you remained standing in front of it, too. You know you should have walked away—after all, the white cloth hiding it away from plain view means whatever is on that canvas is not meant for everyone’s eyes to see, but you simply couldn’t tear yourself away from it. It’s as if there was a silent force asking you to pull that cloth to reveal what’s underneath, the inclination so strong that you could almost hear its voice breathing down next to your ear, unrelenting until you do what it says.

The next thing you know, you had your hand attached to one end of the fabric. You stared at it now, wondering last minute if you should go ahead or not. You swallowed and glanced around one last time around the room. If you’re alone… it wouldn’t hurt if you could take a peek, right? Nobody will know. You just have to see, then cover it back again. Before you could even think about it too much, your arm was finally moving on its own as it gently tugged at the covering. You watched as it fell gently on the floor, like a bodiless ghost melting into the shadows on the ground.

Your eyes couldn’t make out what you were seeing at first. The dim lighting of the room wasn’t helping at all, but you were sure that it was a woman’s silhouette that was staring back at you from the canvas. Colors swirled around her, like some unknown mass trying to drag her back into unknown depths. Shapes and tones jumped from the picture, but her form stood out from the rest, gracefully twisted as if she was in the middle of trying to fight and succumb to it at the same time. You frowned. Taking a step closer towards it, you tried to study its details under what little illumination the lamps above afforded you.

That’s when it all happened simultaneously. Your heart stopped beating the same time your eyes widened as they finally focused on what’s in front of them. It’s as if the ground suddenly vanished from underneath your feet and you were falling, falling, deep into the abyss despite your body being frozen in fear and shock.

You know this painting. You’ve seen it before. It was the same one by Renjun, the one that you saw on your first day working in the manor.

But it was different now. Instead of the unfinished state that caught your attention before, everything about the picture now is in sharp focus. The lines on the woman’s nude body, the hands—which you thought were simply dark swirls dragging her back—and her face twisted beautifully in pleasure and madness stared back at you like a nightmare.

But it was not those which truly shook you to your core. It’s the realization that it was your own face in the portrait that was staring back at you, silently screaming for you to run away.

You stumbled back in shock. Your chest felt tight as you tried to grasp for air while your hands fumbled to find something to hold on to keep you from crashing on the ground. Before you could even take another step, however, something hard hit your back and you felt strong arms wrap around your waist like a vice. You have barely realized what was happening when you felt someone lean over your shoulder, lips pressing against the shell of your ear.

“Isn’t it beautiful? You’re the perfect muse, don’t you think?” Renjun asked softly as he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

******* You didn’t know how long you stayed frozen in his embrace. For a brief moment you thought you were dreaming again until you felt his arms slowly tighten around your waist. As if a jolt of electricity shocked you, you immediately turned to push him away as you scrambled to put some distance between the two of you.

Renjun didn’t seem the least bothered when your eyes finally focused on him. He remained on his spot, his gaze on you unwavering. You, meanwhile, were shaking from head to toe, the vision of the painting still branded vividly in your head.

“Renjun—what’s this?” you managed to stutter as you pointed at the artwork in the middle of the room. You couldn’t even spare to look at it again while he merely gave it a casual glance.

“It’s you. I’ve been working on it for a long time. I was about to show it to you but it seems like you couldn’t wait for it yourself.”

You felt nauseous. A part of your rational mind was slowly losing it as you tried to process his answer. Something's not right. Something is so terribly wrong.

“Why—why did you do this?”

Renjun simply stared at you and leaned his head a little bit to the side as if he was only mildly curious of your reaction. Your stomach turned even before hearing his answer.

“You said it’s beautiful.”

“This is not right—!”

“I came home because they said you were leaving for good,” he continued speaking softly, effectively cutting you from what you were about to say. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and you took another step back as you watched him get close to his artwork. You watched in horror as his thin fingers lovingly ran over the corners of the canvas. “Jaemin almost lost it… It’s a good thing I got here on time.”

And just like that, everything seemed to have clicked into place. The glances, the touches, the words that seemed to have a different undercurrent under them… they weren’t just fragments of your imagination. Every little thing that has gnawed at you from the inside came into crystal clear focus and you felt your knees go weak from the weight of it all. It took every fiber of your being to try and keep yourself steady now, your legs moving on their own as they took small backward steps away from the boy staring at you now with dead eyes. You couldn’t breathe, but it was the last words he told you that finally snapped you to run.

“I don’t think you’ve realized it yet. But no, you cannot leave. Ever.”

You didn’t know where you got the energy for it but in seconds you were flying out of that room and running blindly down the darkened corridors. Your blood pumped noisily in your ears and your chest felt like it was going to split from the sudden exertion you put on it, but you didn’t stop, not even looking back as you tried to put as much distance between you and the library. You didn’t even know where you were going. All you’re focused on is to find the exit and leave the house as soon as possible.

A loud bang that sounded off to your right startled you and you screamed, the force of your shock making you whip around and almost lose your balance. Before you could even hit the floor, however, a pair of hands caught you and you immediately turned, grasping at the chest of your rescuer.

You froze. Haechan smiled down at you as he tried to steady you on your feet.

“Haechan,” you gasped as you took fistfuls of his shirt and tried to shake him in your panic. “Renjun—he’s—please, help me. He’s after me—” you gasped out, almost out of your wits. You’re on the verge of a total breakdown that it almost escaped you, the way he simply smiled down on your shaking form. It was only when you felt one of his hands gently caress the top of your head that reality slapped you in the face again. You suddenly stopped struggling in his hold, pupils shaking as you watched him study your features lovingly.

“Shh… it’s fine. I got you,” he whispered and you could swear ice pricked you from the inside. A slight movement to the right made you turn your head and you saw Jaemin lean casually against the banister of the stairs, his face serene. He gave you one quick look before a gentle smile finally lit up his features.

“Has it started?” he asked and you felt Haechan’s hold on you tighten.

“It has.”

You didn’t struggle. It was as if any trace of fight you had left you in that moment and you let your hands fall limply on your sides. Haechan also loosened his grip on you and you stared at the two boys blankly, your chest heaving as if fighting for air. They didn’t move from their spots and simply followed you with their eyes as if relishing the fear and realization flashing in your face.

Trapped.

You’re trapped.

You’ve always been.

You didn’t even realize that your legs had started moving again on their own as the pieces of the puzzle started to fall together in your mind. You were only shaken from it when your back finally hit the front door, the cold metal of the knob pressing against your spine. Jaemin and Haechan remained on their spots still, even as you blindly reached out for it from behind.

You were expecting it to be locked, so you were a little bit surprised when you felt it give way under your hand when you tried to turn it open. Just before you could even entertain the idea of escaping, however, any trace of hope you had quickly died as you turned and came face to face with Jeno standing right in front of the entrance. He didn’t look the least surprised seeing you there, as if he was waiting for you in the first place.

You eyes took in his calm countenance before slowly moving to stare downwards at what he was holding by his side. Your gaze locked on it in fear, and that’s when the flight response in you flared up again.

Jeno’s hunting rifle shone dully in the light of the entryway, his pale fingers wrapped on its handle.

“There’s really only one place you can run, noona, but I won’t advise it,” he said evenly and you felt your blood freeze in your veins.

“After all, no matter where you hide, I’ll still find you in that forest.”

It happened all at once. You broke into a run, your body screaming at you to go faster as you heard gunshots pierce the air.

---

CHAPTER 7

A/N: Good lord, I wasn’t expecting I’d finish this today but I got one large iced coffee and well... things happened. Anyway, enjoy! Let’s hope the format won’t mess up this time. T.T Finally, all hell broke loose~ <3

Tag list! 

@negincho, @jhornytrash, @jaeminhyuckiii, @jungwoosswhore​, @jsturkey, @aj-7, @pukupukupawpau, @tomiesgirlfren, @vsszn, @those-winternights, @xsnelly, @lihyuck, @laheyspizza, @miyeux27, @haoshitt, @mindofthescattered, @huangberryyy, @d1nne, @choppedupcactus, @neokat​, @yutasnabi​

[deltas-writing-corner]

No regrets

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Sukuna x reader (reader is referred to with gender neutral pronouns, but there are slight implications of them being AFAB)

Author note: At a whooping 11.5k words, it’s finally here! Thank you all for your patience as well as those who gave feedback during the initial interest check! I hope the wait was worth it and you enjoy this long piece! A bit of forewarning, this piece is rather dark, so please read the content warnings carefully and only proceed if you are comfortable doing so.

Revisions made on 3/30/2021

Warnings: Implications of noncon | abusive behavior | unhealthy obsession | death | slight gore | Please ask to tag additional content warnings that I have failed to disclose

Minors do not read/interact with this post!

Heian era

It was only a matter of time before the king of curses came to your village and slaughtered you all. It was inevitable, but the village elders were determined to hand over every last scrap of fabric and goods if it satiated the cursed being for a short while, knowing the all powerful curse was an indulgent one. Your village was a well known trading settlement, so gathering and setting aside the best of the best on the market was rather easy with all the merchants coming in and out of the town nearly every day.

Your family specialized in sword crafting, often forging or repairing swords for soldiers or aristocratic families who merely collected them as works of art. Your father taught you a bit of the craft and a few seasoned samurai humoured you and taught you some forms while they awaited repairs, but you mostly spent time helping your mother around your quaint home. Your days with them were peaceful, even with the ever looming and expected arrival of Ryomen Sukuna blanketing your people with constant fear.

The day finally came, yet all the preparations you and your people took to secure a better chance of survival still didn’t feel like it was enough as the four-armed monster of a man easily destroyed several houses with a mere flick of his hand and cut down several innocent individuals who fled last minute due to their anxiety getting the better of them. He was at least willing to see all that was being offered to him when it was made clear your people were not going down without trying their luck, but that sadistic smile of his was all the proof everyone needed to know that their careful efforts meant nothing.

Your village elders remained determined, and to the shock of you and your parents, they grabbed you and offered you up as one final offering. You were young, the youngest in the village in fact, and unmarried too. A perfect candidate for Sukuna’s harem and they knew this when they turned and grabbed you without a second thought. You still remember the way your mother began to smack your elders with her shoe when they yanked you away from her and your father’s side. Bless her heart.

Perhaps a part of you knew that your status as the youngest would be taken advantage of if things weren’t working out. Sukuna’s harem was only a rumor, scary gossip whispered amongst the housewives. Yet the idea of a monster like him having a harem didn’t seem so farfetched. You knew better than to question the validity of the lucky few who got away and were displaced because of Sukuna’s village razing and massacring.

Whether he accepted the last second addition to the offer pile or killed every single one of you right then and there, you accepted that your life would never return to how it once was before he came. You didn’t make so much as a peep of discomfort when the brute began to manhandle you, pulling back parts of your clothes away from your body to inspect you in front of the entire village, in front of your distraught parents. You didn’t wince in pain when he roughly grabbed your cheek between two of his meaty fingers and examined your face like you were merely a piece of art, an object. You just went completely numb.

Everyone, including yourself, was shocked when he agreed to take you along with all the goods your village offered, but not without ordering them to prepare another pile for his followers to collect every following month from now on. He made it clear that if they held back a single grain of rice or gave him anything else but the best, he’d send your body back to them in a bloody sack before reuniting them with you in the afterlife shortly after.

As the king of curses hauled you away like a sack of potatoes, your emotions came flooding back in. You kicked, scream, cried and begged like a moody toddler for your mom and dad to help you, to not let this monster take you away and do know who knows what to you. The last you see of them before you’re forcefully knocked out is your mother suddenly collapsing on the ground like all the energy she had just left her body instantaneously. Your brawny father seemed equally at a loss as well.

When you were brought back to Sukuna’s temple, you were hauled away by servants after he unceremoniously dropped you on the ground and retreated to his chambers. You were thoroughly bathed, skin rubbed raw of outside filth and dressed into a fresh new robe before being whisked away to Sukuna’s quarters by his demand. 

That first week under his roof was meant to break you, but for some reason you kept fighting back because of something a bit stupid. You wanted to keep your old clothes the maids forced you out of and you wouldn’t shut up or keep still under him no matter how much he harmed or degraded you. You don’t know why you kept pushing back against him over something so meager. The fabric wasn’t anything that fancy. The color was faded and you were even beginning to outgrow them. It’s the only memento you have of your home, so maybe that’s why your mind zeroed in on it and refused to yield to his torturous ministrations until you made certain it wouldn’t be taken away from you.

“Again with those rags you call a kimono?” he clicked his tongue with annoyance. “You want to keep them so badly? Fine, but don’t think I’ll be so accommodating next time.”

Living in a merchant town, you know how to tell when someone is trying to swindle you. As much as you hate the man who has been violating your body for literal days now, you can tell that he means what he has stated.

When you finally relax your body, he lets out a disgustingly child-like cackle, but before you can express any sort of rage that bubbled up within yourself, your mind goes numb once more if only to alleviate the pain you’re in just a bit.

There are two types of fates for those in Sukuna’s harem. There are the favoured concubines, who live relatively better than the disfavoured, who are made into servants. Of course, this is all a meticulous set up by the king of curses himself. Those he shows higher favoritism towards are desperate to remain in his good graces if only to make their way of living that bit easier to bear. Those he turns into lowly servants and brushes aside are desperate to rise above their rank and gain the privilege and spoils he grants to the selected few. It’s all an elaborate plan to instill discord between members of his harem so he can sit back and watch them tear each other apart without lifting a finger.

Your fighting back was what earned you an automatic spot amongst his favoured. He thought he had broken you, but just as soon as you yielded to him you flared up and began to fight back once more. It was invigorating, seeing the rage and desperation in your eyes when you were quiet and had a distant, blank look just moments before. How long had it been since a human raised their fist against him? Far too long for him to remember.

You were an outlier. Where all would refuse to meet his gaze whenever he passed through, you would always meet and hold his gaze without fail or hesitation. You talked back, cursing him a thousand ways into the next phase of the moon. You never bowed when others did. Never.

Your disobedience gave him plenty of reasons to drag you to his chambers and attempt to break you once more, only for you to shut your mind down as soon as you were thrown into his bed. Perhaps it's a defense mechanism? A way of trying to disassociate from all the rough treatment you endure under him? A part of him is grateful you aren’t like the others, that you’ve come up with a way of protecting yourself while the others around you, who give into the despair and hopelessness he brings them or lie to themselves that he holds some sort of affection towards them, if only to find some sort of hope through this hell even if it means lying to yourself. Both of which bore him immensely as well as annoy him greatly.

It’s sudden and neither of you can recall when it began, but after he was done having his way with you and you regained your sense of reality and would devolve into the usual episode of flailing rage and crying, he began to hold you against him and whisper soothing phrases like “good job” or “It’s over, you did well”. He kept his many arms wrapped around your shaking figure, waiting for you to eventually exhaust yourself and pass out before doing so himself. When the sun rises you are always gone from his chambers. How you manage to escape right from under him is a mystery, but he doesn’t have much of a desire to ask you about it. He likes waking up surprised. Hardly anything surprises him anymore.

It becomes clear to everyone that Sukuna acts differently towards you, treats you differently than the rest of his concubines. There are even periods of time where the rest of his harem is given little to no attention because he’s completely focused on you. The time he spends with you isn’t anything kind or relieving. He purposely says things that offend you and have you screaming at him. Should anyone else say what you say to him in return, he’d rip their tongues out and swallow it before their very eyes without any remorse. But you? He’s smiling down at you, as if you were an actor entertaining him with an elaborate and well-rehearsed performance.

“Damn you! Damn this temple! Damn your ancestors for existing and bringing you into this world!”

“Yes, that’s the spirit!” he gives you a toothy grin, his sharp canines glinting under the light of the sun. “Damn me and damn the rest of the world for that matter!”

His encouragement only infuriates you more. Without a second thought you began to throw whatever it is you can get your hands on at him. Your comb, your shoes, your untouched makeup products, anything in sight is hauled at the deranged man who dodges everything with ease. Just as you throw a jar of ink at his head and it shatters against the way, bathing the wood with dark ink, he grabs you and you both tumble back into your unmade futon.

As usual, you thrash and voice your disdain as he presses his lips against your neck and aggressively undresses you. He’s high off the adrenaline from earlier, making his ministrations much more excruciating than they normally are. 

To him, it feels like a passionate session of lovemaking and he’s left light headed when he finishes.

For you, it’s just another day under his reign and body, your mind going numb as soon as he puts you on your hands and knees.

Just as quickly as he gave you most of his attention, he turned away and left you in the dust.

You have been his concubine for over a year when it happens. Your village continues to uphold their end of their deal and provide him with all the luxurious goods they can get their hands on each month. You’re not sure if he’s trying to torture you more or genuinely thinks he’s bringing you some sense of comfort and calm, but he personally brings you a small bunch of fabrics and trinkets that your father specifically went out of his way to get for you, hoping you would receive them somehow as a reminder that he still thinks of you. It’s during these small moments of Sukuna passing on these items that you learn that your mother passed after you were taken.

You didn’t shed even one tear when this information was given to you, as a part of you knew that was the case after you saw her collapse. Sukuna expected you to fly into another fit of rage. That was the only reason he told you if he’s being honest. He’s caught between feeling disappointed or worried when you just hummed in acknowledgement as you rolled up the soft, intricate rolls of fabric and stored them away. You never did anything with them, so they were sure to collect a layer of dust like the rest in due time

No one, not even Sukuna or even yourself, expected your village to take up arms and fight back against the followers he sent out to collect his offerings. When word came back of what transpired, Sukuna was tempted to take you with him and force you to watch as he slaughtered your village in retaliation for breaking the accord. He didn’t, nor did he send back your disfigured corpse like he promised he would back then. He simply went out, killed them, and then came right back to wash off all their spilled blood. All within the same day. 

After he killed all the villagers, he attempted to locate your father amongst the scattered corpses, but they were too mutilated and disfigured to discern who was who. Even if they weren’t, it’s not like he remembered what your father looked like. Did you even bear any resemblance to him? He overheard you speaking with one of the other concubines that your father was an armorer and was tempted to grab one of the expertly crafted swords the villagers were carrying and bring it back to you, blood and all staining the scabbard. He decided against it.

He’s demoted many concubines, all with the purpose of watching them try to regain the meager luxury and privilege they grew accustomed to. He did the same for you, eager to see you break character and come crawling back to him with pitiful desperation. 

A part of him knew that it wouldn’t take much effort on your part to have him changing his mind. He’d easily forgive you for the betrayal of your village. All you had to do was put on a show and give him the entertainment he wanted from you. You can kick and scream and deny him all you want, but he’s broken many people like you before. He’s had you under his spell since day one.

Except, you didn’t do anything. When he sent you to live within the overcrowded servants chambers near the far end of his temple, you never put up any sort of fight or caused a scene. Not even when he gave away all the fabrics your father sent you to the other favoured concubines, going as far as to force them to wear the garments whenever and wherever your presence is at. He waited with giddy for someone to inform him of how you lashed out at another girl and attempted to rip the cloth off of her body because they were wearing the fabrics meant for you. But there was nothing from you.

When he dragged you to his quarter and began to violate you like normal, he forced himself to brag and even fabricate details of the day he slaughtered the people from your village. He even lied about how your father asked about you before he was killed, falsely stating that the man had a smile on his face when Sukuna told him that you received all the goods he selected just for you.

Like always, your mind went blank until he finished. There were no twisted words of comfort afterwards like before. He simply ordered you out once he was done, one final attempt to invoke something out of you. You merely redressed and left in silence. He nearly got up and dragged you back, but once again, he decided against it.

One day he ordered a few men to build a crude looking home out back, detached from the main temple, and have you moved in it upon completion. If his normal efforts won’t elicit the usual reaction out of you, then he’ll take a different approach. He’ll deprive you of everything, social interaction, decent and consistent meals, and a stable shelter. He’ll have you isolated for a short while, after which he will visit you out of pity and revel in the sight of you crawling back into his arms. If the time he forces you alone is not enough to break you, he’ll simply extend your stay until you either give him what he wants or die because of your own stubbornness.

It hasn’t even been a day since you’ve been moved from the servant's chamber to your new quarters, and already he’s come to visit you. Within the same breath that tells you that your only other option besides begging for his forgiveness is to rot away in this poorly made shack, he gives you one final chance to change his mind, to beg him to take you back into his good graces.

The tatami is poorly crafted and discolored. The rafters used to construct the frame of the house already show signs of rotting and water damage. Before he allowed himself in, the tiles on the roof appeared to be hastily made and were not properly laid out. It was lightly raining outside, yet you already have a wooden bucket set up to collect leaking water.

“Can I help you?” you ask without glancing over your shoulder. He smirks at the thought of you knowing who he is by presence alone.

“No,” he smugly answers. “But maybe I can help you?”

You look back over to him with a mean glare. “You’re the one that put me here in the first place.”

“No, I didn’t,” he shakes his head to further cement his point. “You’re in here because your people thought they stood a chance against me and broke our agreement. Killing you would be an act of mercy to them. So long as I keep you alive and slowly torture you in both mind and body, they will never know peace.”

“You’re lying,” you say with certainty, with no fear. “I’ve never lied to you once. I would appreciate it if I can at least be given the same courtesy in return.”

He hates when people demand things from. Most importantly, he hates that you’re right. Your neck is always so small within his grasp, his fingers able to meet and fold over one another without strain. He keeps you suspended in the air just enough to where you can balance yourself on the balls of your feet. Whether you were tall or short, it mattered not. He always towered over you like the predator that he is.

“You want to know why you’re in this shitty home?” he sneers down. “You’re in here because you’ve begun to bore me. You amused me so much before, but the moment you started depriving me of my source of entertainment on purpose is the moment I decide to deprive you of your basic needs in return. I take what I want, when I want it, in whichever quantity I desire.

“You want out of here?” He makes a sweeping gesture around the room. “Then you better press your forehead all the way to the floor and beg for me to take you back. I’ll even tell you the exact words you need to say. ‘Please Sukuna-sama. Please allow me the privilege of sleeping under the same roof as you. Please let me breathe the same air as you.’”

He lets you go and grins when you prostrate after regaining your breathe.

“Please Sukuna-sama,” you beg.

“Please what?” he mocks. “Use your words.”

He feels a vein pop out on his forehead when you dare to look up and look at him with yet another angry grin. Without an ounce of hesitation, you say, “Please get out and leave me be.”

He nearly breaks the door from how hard he slams it shut. He abruptly turns around when he hears a roof tile fall over and splat into the muddy dirt. Those followers of his really built you a shitty home, exactly like he ordered them to do.

He feels the urge to gather them and wring their necks one by one, but he doesn’t know why.

Sukuna can’t sleep during those weeks apart. Not because of you, but because right as he drifts off into slumber he’s abruptly woken up by an intense source of cursed energy flaring up out of nowhere. But just as quickly as he feels it and wakes with a startle, it vanishes without a trace. He’ll go out onto his balcony and try to locate where the energy is coming from, but for some reason he can never pinpoint it despite his superior senses. He tries to suppress his own energy in the hopes of tricking the source into thinking he’s asleep and unsuspecting, but it would seem that they’re smart enough not to fall for the bait.

He doesn’t need sleep in the first place, so he’s tempted to just stay up and catch whoever is trying to scare him red handed and be done with them. The idea of someone getting the upper hand at him and forcing him into a position of defensiveness doesn’t sit well with him, so he decides to just let the unknown person have their fun for now and continue this little back and forth with them. Eventually they’ll grow cocky and slip up and he’ll confront them when it happens.

Because your little shack is located near the back of the temple, completely out of sight from Sukuna’s view from his balcony, Neither he nor the others notice the plumes of smoke that rise during the dead of night. No one also takes notice of the bits of metal that go missing throughout the temple.

The rise of the next full moon indicates the end of the month. Sukuna sends for someone to go retrieve you, but they never return and he’s left waiting long enough for the moon to reach its highest peak in the sky. When he orders someone else into his quarters he’s met with more silence that only further enrages him.

Just as he’s about to call for Uraume to figure out what the hell was wrong with his servants, he feels it. The cursed energy that he’s been trying to catch off guard the last few weeks. It’s willingly making itself known, practically begging him to follow its trail and meet with him. Just as quickly as he is able to identify and figure out which direction it’s originating, he notices that it strangely leads him in the direction of your poorly built home.

It’s impossible that it’s you. Cursed energy is born from negative emotions. He’s sure you still have an abundance of negative feelings towards him. Yet never did he feel even a speck of cursed energy resonate off of you. His mind immediately wonders if the individual knows of his strange obsession over you and is using you as bait. It’s foolish on their part, thinking the king of curses would yield for a mere human. 

His pace quickens despite his internal dismissal, failing to notice that everyone is hiding and waiting in anticipation. 

When he discovers that the cursed energy is indeed from you, he can’t help but to laugh like a crazed hyena. The sword by your side further amuses him and he’s genuinely curious as to how you got the proper materials to craft it.

“It took a bit of convincing,” you willingly answer his question. “I made everyone believe I could stand a chance against you and they gave me all the materials and tools I needed and looked the other way. I guess watching all those traveling merchants try to hype up their goods came in handy after all,” you look out in the distance as you briefly reminisce on the bygone days of your former life.

He begins to slowly clap with one pair of hands, the other crossed over his chest in amusement. “This is by far the most entertaining performance I’ve ever witnessed. Bravo. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“I’d gladly accept the compliment, except this isn’t a show,” you stand to your full height and get a better grip of the hilt of your sword. “It’s the real deal.”

He erupts into yet another cacophony of wild laughter. “Do you seriously think you can kill me?”

“No,” you answer, truly throwing him off guard by the way he goes still so suddenly. “But that’s alright. I’m fine with never being strong enough to put a permanent end to you. Only one of us will be walking away from this fight, and I assure you that it’s going to be me.”

You draw your blade out and get into a low, defensive stance. Even under the lackluster light of the moon, he can see how well crafted your weapon is. He’s reminded of the craftsmanship the weapons your people carried when he slaughtered them, no better than a bunch of wooden sticks against him either way. Immediately, he regrets not bringing back one of their weapons and forcing you to expose to him your knowledge of swordsmanship and blacksmithing. Perhaps then he could have had you brandishing your blade under his command rather than against him.

Oh well, it’s better this way. It’s just as exhilarating and head swirling as those instances where you damned him with all of your being and threw things at his head. No, it’s more than exhilarating. It’s downright intoxicating seeing you readying yourself for his first move. How sweet of you to allow him the honor to make the first strike.

“You truly are something else entirely, beloved,” he dreamily sighs. “Did you honestly think you’d have the upperhand against me just because I gave you a little bit more of my attention?”

“Never,” you reply. You press your eyelids shut for a moment, and the moment you open them up the layer of dissociative numbness vanishes into a look of total focus and emotions he cannot discern. “But whether I live or die, I have no regrets about tonight.”

You really didn’t have enough strength to kill him. However, you did have enough to dismember all twenty of his fingers and seal him away. For the first time in years, the sun rises and bestows its warmth to a world in which two-faced Sukuna does not instill fear upon humanity or stain the earth in their blood. You and those who were under his servitude walk out of his temple as free people, hopeful people. As an act of gratitude for becoming their savior, nineteen others take one of Sukuna’s fingers each and swear to scatter them as far as they can so he cannot be brought back into the world.

As for yourself, you set out to rebuild your destroyed village and take up your father’s legacy as a maker of swords. Eventually you meet and settle down with a loving partner and raise children together. You pass on the family trade, your self developed cursed technique, as well as the memories of your time as Sukuna’s concubine. Those who come after you continue to carry on your will, to ensure that Sukuna can never be reborn into the world. Your sword and the old robes you kept after you were taken away are passed down as family heirlooms, but they are never used by any of your descendants.

That is until the year 2018, when Sukuna is resurrected within a compatible vessel.

Modern era

You bear not only a striking resemblance to your ancestor, but many of their memories as well. The family sword that was used against the king of curses is bestowed upon you, now dubbed the next in line to claim the title of clan leader, their preserved kimono now fashioned into a sageo that wraps around the scabbard.

Your family stays out of most affairs within the jujutsu world, but your birth and the strong connection to your ancestor eventually reaches the ears of many prominent figures within this hidden society. They think your birth a bad omen, a sign that the king of curses may return to the world one day. Most are scared, but your family pays them no attention. Even if the damnable curse did find a way to revive into the world, you and most of your family members who have inherited your ancestor’s technique will oppose him just as they did a thousand years ago.

“You don’t look too concerned,” Gojo makes his observation known to you as soon as the two of you settle in the small private room you ushered him to when he came to your family estate. He wanted to confirm the news of Sukuna’s resurrection to you himself. “None of you do, actually.”

“We all knew this day would come,” you calmly tell him as you poured him a cup of tea. “This is the risk our ancestor took when they developed their technique. In exchange for the strength and ability to seal Sukuna away, they willingly gave up the ability to deliver him a fatal and final blow against him.”

“I’m not well-versed when it comes to binding vows and heavenly restrictions,” he takes a moment of pause to sip his now cooled tea, visibly showing his disdain over it’s bitterness. “But is giving up the satisfaction of killing him really a fair exchange for a specific technique and a bit of cursed energy?”

Your lips pressed together in a grimace. “You have no idea what it was like living underneath that monster’s reign. Even if the binding vow had odd conditions skewed against their favor, every bit of what was given up was worth it if it meant regaining their freedom.”

Gojo isn’t moved or even impressed by your admittance. He simply shrugs before taking another sip of his tea, face contorting in displeasure once again as he forces himself to swallow the green liquid. You’re tempted to ask him why he keeps sipping if he hates the flavor, but he begins speaking again before you can voice your thoughts.

“So, about the vessel,” he leans against his closed fist, propped up by the low table underneath him. “The higher ups are willing to postpone the kid’s execution in favor of the opportunity to kill Sukuna, but they want someone from your family, preferably you, to be his second shadow so to speak. You’re the failsafe in case the plan doesn’t play out like I promised and the curse needs to be sealed again.”

“Sukuna’s vessel...is a child?” you ask incredulously.

“He’s about your age,” Gojo admits with a displaced smile, but it soon falls once you suddenly erupt into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

“That’s priceless!” you say while wiping away a stray tear. “The king of curses, Ryomen Sukuna, stuck inside some teenager’s body? I bet he’s pissed off and swearing up a storm inside the kid!”

You’re not sure who exactly is getting the most amusement at the turn of events, you or your ancestor from beyond the grave. After your laughing fit subsides and you straighten yourself out, you turn back to Gojo to ask him the burning question.

“So when do I get to meet him?”

Itadori Yuuji is the polar opposite of Sukuna. While Sukuna had a smile that both angered and scared your ancestor and those around him, Yuuji’s was like a literal ray of sunshine. He’s nice, energetic, strong willed and even humorous. You’re honestly surprised he can act so hopeful despite all that’s happened to him and has been forced upon his shoulders.

You’re not going to lie, but you honestly expected a timid and somewhat gloomy kid. Someone easy to manipulate to put it bluntly. Yuuji’s friendly personality is welcomed in your book. Though you admit that now that you’ve exchanged a few words with him, you feel bad and pitiful that he’s been marked for death and likely has to deal with Sukuna on a somewhat regular basis.

As Yuuji rambles to you about some childhood incident, the slits underneath his eyes open up and a familiar pair of red eyes meets your gaze. “It’s you,” the manifested mouth on the side of his cheek morphs into a deranged, toothy grin that is so painstakingly recognizable. 

Your heartbeat picks up and your palms are coated with an instantaneous layer of nervous sweat. You contemplate saying something or simply ignoring the curse, not wanting to give him any satisfaction of hearing the voice of your ancestor acknowledge him in any way. Before you can come to any consensus, you’re amazed at how Yuuji easily slaps his hand over his cheek and tells the curse to buzz off.

Itadori further cements that he is Sukuna’s antithesis as he goes out of his way to apologize to you for the inconvenience the curse caused you (How could he tell you became nervous when Sukuna spoke only two words at you?) He even brings you a can of soda as a sort of peace offering/token of forgiveness! You’re grateful for the gesture, but you feel bad for letting him think that he’s at fault for something that wasn’t even that big of a deal to begin with.

“Still, I made you upset,” he looks down to his empty can and pouts. “If you don’t want to be around me-”

“Yuuji,” you interrupt him. “I’m fine, really. My ancestor stood their ground against him once. Surely I can do it again a millennium later.”

“Gojo-sensei was telling me about that!” his eyes sparkle with recollection. “That’s so cool! You’re basically his arch nemesis!”

You awkwardly laugh at his enthusiasm. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“So, Senpai,” he looks at your with a hopeful gaze. “Gojo-sensei seems pretty certain this plan of his will work, but what do you think?”

“Well,” you take a quick sip of your drink before continuing. “Before I tell you what I think about this whole debacle, I need to make a few things thing clear regarding the two of us.”

He obediently nods, face now serious, though it takes you a considerable amount of effort not to laugh from how innocent he still looks. It’s hard to believe he’s housing the king of curses within himself.

“First and foremost, don’t call me Senpai! ” you firmly say. Don’t call me by my family name either. We’re about the same age, so just call me by my first name from now on. Understood?”

“First name, got it!”

“Second,” you put up two fingers. “This is the most important point, so pay attention,” you look at him to make sure he’s ready to commit your words into memory. “Whether the plan works out or not, you must never forget one important fact of the matter. You are not Sukuna.”

He flinches, clearly not expecting such words to be directed towards him.

“I’m sure Gojo whipped up some epic tale about my ancestor’s grudge against that two-faced monster. I not only inherited their technique, but also many of their memories during their initial life. In a way, I suppose I hate Sukuna as well, and based on my reaction from earlier when he popped out, I’m not exactly going to handle moments where he gains control with as much poise as I should.

But remember Yuuji. My discomfort will never be towards you, but the curse you are now bound to,” you reach out and pat his head in assurance. “As the saying goes ‘the enemy of my enemy is a friend.’ Which brings me to my final point!” You excitedly profess. “I want us to be friends!”

“Wait, really?” he sounds almost unsure over your insistence. “I mean, I don’t mind, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to put up with me for my sake.”

“I’m not saying we have to be the best of friends” you explain. “Since we’re going to be around each other so often, I at least want us to be on friendly terms. I want your time left in this world to be as enjoyable and carefree as possible.”

“I guess we can be friends,” he crosses his arms and stares off in deep thought. “I’m just trying to think of a good starting point to get to know you.”

“You can always keep it simple and ask me what I like,” you say, laughing at the way he suddenly has an “ah hah!’ moment and looks at you like an excited puppy.

“Do you like Jennifer Lawrence?” 

Yuuji is almost offended that you didn’t know who Jennifer Lawrence is. He was utterly flabbergasted that you haven’t watched any of her movies either (“I don’t even know who she is Yuuji how the hell am I supposed to know she was in movies?”). He went on and on about every single film, but if you’re being honest his 2 minute summaries (infodumping, really) of the plots didn’t really do them justice. Out of nowhere he proposes that you and him have a movie night so he can show you exactly what you’re missing! Of course, it’ll have to be after the two of you settle into your dorm rooms.

It’s true that you were offered immediate admission into Tokyo Technical college due to your lineage, but no one but you and your family knew about this. Gojo also knew. He was the one that brought up the idea in the first place… 

Oh, Gojo told him. Well now you just feel stupid.

That’s how you found yourself in the dormitory’s common area with Yuuji and your other classmates, Nobara and Megumi. Meeting them wasn’t that bad. Just kidding, it was terrifying! Megumi looks exactly the way your family often describes members of the Zen’in clan to look like, blank and unnerving. You honestly thought Nobara would beat you up just from the way she was looking at you with such an observing glare, completely forgetting the fact that you’re a descendant of the person who single handedly sealed Sukuna away.

Oh yeah, Yuuji told them that! Was he not supposed to?

“Hah?” Nobara scowls at Yuuji, who puts his hands up in defense. “You mean their old ass grandparent turned that ugly ass curse into bite sized pieces?”

“I did,” you answer, but you quickly catch your mistake and correct yourself. “They did. Along with the sword they used to cut Sukuna down I also inherited most of their memories which is...It’s not as pleasant as you would think.”

Her expression softens up a bit and she steps in front of you. She holds out her palm and makes a beckoning gesture. “The sword,” she clarifies when you look at her with confusion. “Let me hold it.”

You make a quick trip back to your room to retrieve it. She nearly doubles over into you once you pass it over to her.

“Damn! How much does this thing weigh?!” she looks at you with disbelief

“It weighs next to nothing whenever I hold it,” you explain, taking it into your hold and tossing it in the air and twirling it around to further drive your point.

“Bullshit! It’s like 50 pounds!” 

“It can’t be that bad,” Megumi comments.

“Oh yeah? Here!” Nobara grabs and tosses it at him, much to your dismay. “See?” she shrills when he nearly doubles over himself. “It’s heavy!”

“Yeah, ok. This is definitely the sword that took down Sukuna,” Megumi gasps.

“My turn! My turn!” Yuuji makes grabby hands, but you push yourself between him and Megumi who’s still holding onto it before he can get too close.

“It’s probably best if you don’t touch it. Y’know?” you point back and forth between him and you.

“Oh, right,” he sheepishly remembers. “Crap, the popcorns gonna get cold!”

You sigh in relief when his attention goes elsewhere before quickly heading back to your room to put the weapon away. When you reenter the lounge, Yuuji greets you with a cheery smile before patting the empty space next to him. He wants you to sit beside him, but Nobara seems to have other plans as she sits right in your intended spot and tells you to sit next to her instead. You were honestly scared and a bit reluctant, but your fears subside once you sat down and she locked her arm with yours and leaned her head on your shoulder for the rest of the night. 

She and Megumi eventually retreated back to their rooms before they could fall asleep on the couch after the second movie concludes.

“Do you want to keep going?” Yuuji asked, hands fidgeting with the next DVD case he had at the ready.

“Sure,” you nod, not tired in the slightest just yet.

“Sweet!” he gave you a toothy smile before standing up to head towards the dvd player. However, the moment he stood to his full height he went deathly still. His body contorts before swiftly relaxing. He rolls his neck a few times and lets out a relieved sigh. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, that’s when you feel that disgusting familiar aura and your heart starts beating like you just did a triathlon in a few short minutes.

“Finally, some fresh air,” he sighs in relief as he arches his back and his spine lets out a few crisp pops. His voice hasn’t changed in a thousand years and neither has your fear and disdain for it. When he turns and looks at you with those familiar blood colored irises, you involuntarily reach out to grab your weapon, but you only grab at empty air.

“Hey,” you flinch when he addresses you. No, it’s not you he’s talking to. Given your identical appearance and even your cursed energy that you manifested out of habit, in his mind he must think of you as your ancestor themself, not a distant descendant. “It’s been a while.”

“What do you want?” you somehow manage to stutter out.

“Nothing,” he admits. “’Just want a good look at you.”

If your ancestor or even your family were to see you now, you’re certain they’d be disappointed in you for going still before your greatest enemy. All those years of hating and experiencing all those horrible memories feel like a complete waste when you can’t even muster the strength to bat his hand away when it takes hold of your chin and turns your head over for him to thoroughly inspect you.

“Did you miss me?” he strangely inquires.

Finally. You feel some control over your body come back and answer with an affirmative, “No.”

“That’s too bad,” he clicks his tongue with mocking dissatisfaction. “Because I missed you.”

His face begins to lean into you, lips slightly parted, and you know that he’s going in to press them against yours. Just as you’re about to gather all the strength you can muster and push him away, his body seizes once more and the black markings cross his face and wrists begin to fade and crumble away. An in-control-again Yuuji blinks a few times before checking his surroundings to regain his bearings.

“What happened?” he looks down at you and asks, not registering the fact that he was kneeling over you and firmly pushing you back against the couch with a painful grip.

A part of you wanted to punch Yuuji and run back to your room so you can wait out the slight panic attack that overcame you once Sukuna vanished, but you had to remind yourself that you would be hurting Yuuji if you went through with your action. In all honesty, that second point you told him of remembering to never think of himself as Sukuna was more for you than for him. While your ancestor would willingingly strike down any and all who have the slightest bit of affiliation with their tormentor, you are not them. Therefore, you will not stoop down to their discriminating level, no matter how justified it may be.

The night ended on an expected awkward note. Yuuji, bless his heart, went out of his way again to make it up to you. How? He bought a bunch of snacks from a convenience store in the city and gave them to you in a pretty, gift wrapped box. Nobara and Megumi, who helped him put together the forgiveness present, thought the gift itself was dumb and lackluster, but he reasons with them by stating how you also come from a countryside town as well and how you’d definitely like to try some of the Tokyo-exclusive goodies.

Well, the way towards another’s forgiveness is through the stomach, or something like that. The exact quote is a bit lost to you since you’re too busy savoring all the odd flavored chips and candies you’ve never had the chance to taste back home. Nobara and Megumi feel the immense urge to punch you in the back of your head over how easy you are to win over, but you look so happy eating your second bag of potato chips and Yuuji looks very relieved that he’s earned your forgiveness- 

Oh wow you’re offering to share your snacks with them? Don't mind if they do!

While all of you try each and every snack Yuuji gifted to you and rate them like you’re all a bunch of snack experts all of a sudden, Sukuna is brewing in his own satisfaction as he watches you through the eyes of his vessel. Nevermind the fact that you sealed him away all those years ago. He’s back now by a stroke of luck that only seemed to strike again when he saw your familiar figure through Yuuji’s vision. The cursed energy that radiated off of you, the sword you carried by your side, even your face, there was no doubt in his mind that it was the work of fate that you and him were reunited in this new era.

He made the mistake of letting you out of his sight back then, and he isn’t going to let it happen again. He wants to take control over his vessel's body each and every time he’s anywhere within your vicinity, but not only does the brat have the convenient ability to suppress him, you’re a rather cautious one. Just when he thinks Yuuji to be alone and susceptible, you appear out of thin air and keep him at a standstill from within. It’s annoying, but at the same time impressive as well.

While you may be oblivious to his vessel’s budding feelings towards you, he sees this growing fondness Yuuji is beginning to garner towards you as an opportunity, a weakness he can exploit to force a small rematch between you and him. He won’t kill you. He just wants to know if your technique that surprised and caught him off guard back then still elicits the same thrill it did then. 

You are his favorite source of entertainment after all, and it’s been far too long since he’s been amused.

Sloppy and desperate. Those are the best descriptors of your cursed energy the first time he detected it. Your sword still remains as beautiful and deadly as it was, cutting through rows of trees with ease with just the slightest bit of cursed energy embedded into your attack. It makes the phantom sensation of his vessel’s freshly ripped out heart, beat faster and his grin widens to the point of his cheeks hurting from the uncontrollable strain.

Precise and brutal. That is how he would describe your energy now. He easily feels the hatred and sudden rage that began to fuel and flare up your aura oozing out of you that only further accentuates its new characteristics. Normally, you would be swearing at him with a mouth so foul that it would make the average curse blush in embarrassment. He can’t say he likes the way you silently assault him. Where is that crude vocabulary of yours?

“Senpai!” Megumi shouts for your attention as he tries to keep up with your fast paced exchange with Sukuna. “You need to call down-”

“Megumi, don’t call me your damn Senpai!” You shout in response, eyes never daring to look away from Sukuna even as you address your classmate.

“That’s more like it!” he cheers with satisfaction. “Oh, how I’ve missed your damning words beloved.”

“Don’t call me that!” you shout as you swing your right arm and impulsively punch him. He easily blocks your melee, though you send him skidding back a few feet. 

With the much needed space set between the two of you, you correct your stance to a more defensive one. Your innate technique has been actively running ever since Sukuna took over Yuuji’s body and activated his domain expansion. Your sudden bout of rage overwhelmed you after witnessing Sukuna rip Yuuji’s heart out, nearly forgetting that you’ve been barred from the ability to inflict any lasting damage against him in your frenzied state.

Your inherited technique allows you to perfectly parry his ‘Dismantle’ and ‘Cleave’, but no damage will be inflicted if you purposely strike with the intention of dealing a lethal blow as you have been for the past few minutes. Your sword is blunt upon contact, evident by the lack of any lacerations upon his skin.

He may have offered the chance to heal Yuuji if you agreed to spar with him, but you know better than anyone that it’s all a bunch of lies coming out of his stolen lips. Yuuji was lost the moment Sukuna came out and set his sight on you, or rather, who he believes you to be. You’d easily blame yourself for being the cause of his demise, but you also know that Yuuji wouldn’t like it if you blame yourself over this from the afterlife.

The least you can do to make it up to him is bring his body back so it can be properly cremated. He at least deserves a proper funeral.

“All tuckered out already?” Sukuna mockingly coos at you. “I suppose that’s to be expected. How long has it been since our last battle? I doubt there was any curse who could live up to my strength this past millennium.” He cackles when you don’t reply. He’s right. He knows he is.

You finally break your silence with an odd comment. “You really think I’m them, do you?”

Though obviously rhetoric, Sukuna gives you a questioning look. “Elaborate,” he commands.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you simply state. “I have the same technique as them, but I am not the one who sealed you away that fateful night. That person is my predecessor, while I am their descendant.”

You state your family name, then your first name, and wait. He willingly takes in this information, cupping his chin and looking up at the sky as he mulls it over before coming to his own conclusion. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t seem to accept it as the truth, evident by the way he slips his hands back in his pockets and cocks his head at you with a playful attitude.

“Whatever the punchline was, I’m afraid it fell flat,” he lets out a sympathetic laugh. “You mean to tell me that after I was sealed away, you found yourself a spouse willing to take you, a washed up whore, into their bosom and bear children with you?”

The way he shakes his head and clicks his tongue in a dismissive manner pisses you off more than watching him crush Yuuji’s heart in his bare hand. Most of the memories of your ancestor revolve around their time as one of Sukuna’s concubines. The memories you have of their life afterwards are foggy at best, but you do remember the feeling of peace as well an overwhelming amount of bliss and mutual love their spouse gave them despite their history. It was one of the happiest moments of their life and it never once faltered even after they retold their darkest memories to their children and handed down their initial will, to always oppose the king of curses, no matter the era.

People may think it cruel, selfish even, that they did not strive to develop a better technique and pass down such a heavy responsibility to their children and their children’s children. But if there’s anything those hazy memories taught you, is that they do not regret the efforts that they did make to set themselves, and the others under his servitude, free from his tyranny. Had they submitted and gave into his whims, they would have never been blessed with their children and loving spouse.

Had they not done what they did, acted the way they did, you would not be here, opposing the king of curses within this new era of curses.

“I have never lied to you,” you repeat those now ancient words. “The least you can do is give me the benefit of the doubt before dubbing me a liar.”

It happened so fast that you question if it even happened or not. His eyebrows furrowed, the exact same manner when your ancestor severed the first of his twenty fingers on that fateful night.

When he began to approach you, you sheath your blade and returned to a neutral stance, feeling safe to do so as the previous hostile energy he exuded calms. Megumi stumbles in just in time to see Sukuna and you standing nearly chest to chest. He presses his palms together in preparation to summon one of his shikigami to provide support, but he stops his incantation when he notices that neither of you are exchanging blows anymore, though the two of you do exchange unfaltering glares towards each other that puts Megumi on edge even though he is merely a spectator in this situation.

“I am not them,” you firmly state. “This is the truth.”

Sukuna hums, dissatisfaction clear as you repeat your claim from earlier.

“It seems you weren’t lying,” he finally concedes. “Such a shame.”

With one final shrug, the black markings all over Yuuji’s chest and limbs begin to crumble until there's nothing but his unblemished skin. The sharper features his face takes on when Sukuna takes control and taints with his sigils turn back into those belonging to the typically boisterous boy.

“Hey,” his slightly raspy and confused voice greets you so genuinely. 

“Hey,” you greet him back with a relieved, yet sad smile. His eyes follow yours that seemed focused on his chest and that’s when he finally notices the gaping hole as well as the lack of a beating heart and blood trail.

The grey clouds that have been gathering before you all were dropped off at the school finally begin to shed droplets of cold rain down on you. A drop lands perfectly on his face that looks indistinguishable to a shed tear. You instinctively reach out and wipe it away.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he pouts. 

“It’s alright,” you withdraw your hand away from his cold and sickeningly pale cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from him.”

He took a deep breath as if he was about to say something else, but his eyes finally go blank and his upright body gives out and falls forward. You catch him with ease and carefully set him down on the damp soil. He’s officially gone to you, yet you take extra care to cup the back of his head and gently set him down with shaking hands. As you kneel beside his stiff body, another drop falls on his face and trickles down. 

You’re not sure if it’s another raindrop or the first of many teardrops that begin to spill from your tear ducts once your brain finally registers that your best friend is lying dead before you.

A week later

Yuuji is dead, yet it is as clear as the large hole in his chest that Sukuna is still living on within the body, if only barely. Ieiri, Gojo and Ijichi can’t tell, but you can. Call it yet another inherited skill or instinct, but no amount of pitiful words or comforting pats on your back from either of them are going to make you second guess yourself on this matter.

Sukuna is alive, yet for some reason he isn’t staking his claim on the body. You know he can at any moment, but it seems he’s not entirely stupid and is trying to play his cards right.

Perhaps he’s waiting for something? Maybe a certain someone instead? It wouldn’t surprise you if he has allies that are still alive and are well aware of his resurrection. It wouldn’t surprise you either if they were gathering his other fingers in his stead. Those damn things are blinking beacons for other curses, so gathering them shouldn’t be hard even for the most mediocre of cursed beings. Even when he’s made into a bunch of inanimate objects, he can still cause some amount of chaos and grief.

Damn him.

Your claim that Sukuna still lives goes from outlandish and desperate to undoubtedly true when a faint pulse of his energy brings everyone’s attention to Yuuji’s corpse and puts you all on the defensive. It was a signal, specifically for you. He wants you to come to him, within his own playing field and without the prying eyes of your superiors or the chance for any outside interference from your teacher.

Speaking of Gojo, he’s been trying to pull you away from Yuuji’s corpse and usher you out of the room for your own protection.

“He wants to talk to me,” you state the obvious to him.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he says with finality. It’s almost adorable how he’s trying to play the role of the stern authority figure when he’s normally such an eccentric man 99% of the time. “C’mon, you need to leave.”

“Gojo-sensei,” you reach up to your shoulder that he’s tightly gripping and gently pry his hand off. “I mean no disrespect to you, or anyone at this school for that matter. But when it comes to matters regarding Ryomen Sukuna, you and the higher ups don’t know a damn thing about that monster.”

Your hand hastily reaches out and your fingertips merely graze against Yuuji’s cold and rigid skin. Just that slight contact is enough to have your surroundings shift from a stagnant and grey autopsy room to a dark and brooding domain. You blink away the dizziness from your sudden shift of reality and the first thing you notice is the pile of ox skulls. You also notice the endless rows of ribs high up in the air that further add towards the domain’s ominousness.

“I’m here!” you cup your hands around your mouth as you yell out. “The hell do you want from me you two-faced bastard?!”

“Quit screaming,” his annoyed yet strangely soft voice startles you. You abruptly turn around to meet him face to face.

“Where’s Yuuji?” you ask with command behind your infliction.

“There’s no one else but us,” he says in a poor attempt to make you drop your defensive body posture. When he notices that you aren’t relaxing, he points behind you with an annoyed glare. You turn to see nothing but the collection of dirtied animal skulls, but at the last second you see an unconscious Yuuji planted face down into the ankle deep water (blood?) at the bottom of the mountainous pile. Upon seeing the familiar tuft of pink hair, you sprint towards his unmoving body. You flip him upwards once he’s in reach, fearing he was drowning or at the very least injured in some way.

As you try to gently coax or check for any sign of life within your friend, you ignore or even fail to notice the way Sukuna observes you from behind. The boy is unconscious only due to Sukuna easily decapitating him earlier as they fought over the conditions of the binding vow he was enforcing in exchange for healing his vessel’s body and bringing him back to life. Just as he was about to uphold his end of the vow, he felt as you entered the room his vessel’s lifeless body was most definitely being stored to be later cremated. 

His reaching out to you was an impulsive action on his part. He now knows that the one who stands before him is truly not you. Your energy and your descendants are near indistinguishable, so his sudden call of you was a mere force of habit and his prevailing desire to chase after you. It’s not his brightest moment, but you tend to make him act beyond what is usually his typical behavior. 

As he watches your descendant talk to a half awake and delirious Yuuji, he can’t help but to examine them with a bit of awe. The one before him is your descendant of a thousand years, perhaps even more. They are your flesh and blood, and yet they retain not only your image, but even some of your memories as well. He doesn’t know what to think of this revelation, truly he doesn’t.

The only thing that’s rubbing him the wrong way is the fact that they are not a product between you and him. It’s not that he has or had any sort of unfulfilled paternal desire locked deep within him. Even if he did contemplate producing a few offspring before his temporary demise, he only wanted children for the same reason he wanted a harem, as a source of amusement that he can freely manipulate however he sees fit. Perhaps he did consider impregnating a few dozen of his concubines to see if any could birth him an heir worthy of his legacy, but the entire process was too much of a hassle that he wasn’t willing to deal with at the time. He had no pure intentions when it comes to spreading his seed into the world.

So why is he angry that you went ahead and did so without him?

“Your ancestor’s spouse,” he idly mentions in an attempt to garner their careful attention. From the way they stiffen up and look at him with that familiar glare of yours, he has it. “What were they like?”

“As if I’d tell you,” they say.

“I see you inherited their stubbornness,” he huffs with annoyance, but deep down in the deepest and most hidden parts of his mind, he feels somewhat glad that your stubbornness continues to live on in the world. “Tell me, and I’ll let you return with Yuuji-”

“Their spouse was just as stubborn as they were,” they cut him off with an immediate answer. “No matter how many times they tried to ignore or downplay their advances, they continued to chase after my predecessor until it was as obvious as the sun that they truly wanted to be together with them and make them happy.”

As he expected, their recollection of your life after him is too disgustingly domestic and romanticized for his liking. What does come at a surprise is that they completely went against their earlier proclamation of remaining silent and divulged him on the information he initially asked of you rather readily. Something must have switched in their mind. Are they trying to get back at him on your behalf by proudly stating that you lived a happy life without him?

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” they say with a smug voice. “They hated you beyond comprehension, and even if they are long gone from this world, I assure you that their hatred remains just as intense as it was when they lived.”

“Don’t be mistaken, you pathetic human,” he growls, much more angrily than normal. “I could care less who they fornicated with and how many children they produced.”

“For the self proclaimed king of curses, you sure are a terrible liar,” they say, almost pitifully. “You regret the way you treated them, don’t you? Deny it all you want, I know I’m right.”

Your last comment is the final straw. With the flick of his wrist he casts you and Yuuji out of his inner domain and back into the living world. He heals Yuuji to maintain his side of the binding vow before settling back atop his rigid throne of horned skulls. He watches through Yuuji’s eyes how the two of you squeeze each other into a firm embrace after he reawakens. When Gojo makes a comment about how Yuuji is stark naked on the metal table, he feels the immense urge to grab one of the skulls and crush it into a fine dust in his bare fist as the two of you devolve into a fit of awkward but good natured laughter at the realization.

He can’t remember a time when you ever laughed or smiled like your descendant is doing now.

Does he regret never once seeing or hearing you in such a way? Maybe.

But you’re gone, so there is no point lingering on it too much.

There’s no point in having regrets now.

Bonus

Sukuna knew it was only a matter of time before you and Yuuji solidified your relationship as a romantic one. Back in his prime, he behaved no differently than Yuuji did after he brought him back to life, straightforward and without a second thought. Ever since he stole you away from your family and home, every chance you took at defying him and damning his name into the fiery pits of hell invoked something within him. Something no other man or woman can or ever will be able to. And yet, each time he reached out to indulge himself further of you, you retreated into yourself and tried to cast him out of every corner of your mind while he tried to engrave your everything into his very being. Your behavior to his advances differ greatly from your descendant, who accepts Yuuji’s advances with an honest and willing smile.

He watches the relationship through the unsuspecting eyes of his vessel. Sometimes, he gags at how sickeningly affectionate Yuuji can be. Yet despite his behavior, your descendant drinks it all up and returns the hugs and the kisses tenfold. Nobara and Megumi often roll their eyes on the sidelines and comment on how they were practically made for each other. Sukuna can't help but silently roll his eyes as well as agree with their annoyed comments, even if it makes him incredibly irritated. 

Will he ever admit to the latter? Never.

He does not regret the way things turned out between you and him. He cannot regret for the sake of his sanity. Instead, he often ponders about the possibilities. Had he not taken you from your home, could there have been a chance you and him could have been friends despite his reputation at the time? If he courted you properly instead of forcing you into his collection of common whores, could you look at him the same way your descendant looks at Yuuji, with so much love and tenderness that it makes his stomach twist into knots and the back of his throat burn? Despite being a curse who sustains himself on his pure carnal desires, could he have been selfless and put forth the efforts to make you happy?

During nights when they share a bed together, he sneaks control over the body and traces what was once your face with his black painted claws. Could you ever look so peaceful as your descendant does now if you laid beside him? Would you remain in his bed until the sun rises instead of fleeing? Would your body feel just as warm, fit just as perfectly in his embrace as your descendant does?

Sukuna does not regret the path he took. He cannot, for the sake of his sanity. He does wonder about the possibilities.

He wonders, could this descendant of yours have been his as well?

[jamie-leah]

Traitor

Bucky x Reader

Oneshot

Summary: Everyone thinks you're a traitor but Bucky isn't convinced.

Word: 2592

Warnings: Swearing, action stuff, hints at abuse and violence at the end.

A/N: I had a half formed daydream that turned into this. Starts strong, ends weak, enjoy!

Oneshot Masterlist Series Masterlist

Steve throws your file on the desk in front of Bucky. Bucky just stares at your face on the front of the folder, pinned by a silver paper clip.

Silver was your favourite type of jewellery. Bucky remembered storing the information away for when he bought you a silver necklace for your birthday not long ago.

“I’m sorry, Buck, but we had an operative confirm everything I just told you. Y/N is a contract killer, an assassin and she was sent here to infiltrate and kill. Namely, all of us.”

Bucky hears the words coming from Steve’s mouth, but he can’t understand them. Images of you flash in his mind. You laughing at one of his lame jokes, you crying in his arms from a nightmare, you underneath him moaning his name as he kisses a trail down your neck.

Bucky shakes his head, “I don’t believe that Steve, I can’t. Who’s the source? How do you know they’re legit?”

Steve picks up a remote and points it at a screen in the room. It blinks to life on a still image of you in a restaurant, kissing the cheek of one of the most prominent mob bosses in the city and known Hydra agent.

Bucky stands so fast his chair cracks on the floor as he tears out of the office at full speed. He skips passed the elevator and takes the stairs, missing steps in his rush.

He keeps going and going until he hits the lowest level underneath the tower and storms passed all the guards. None of them challenge him, too afraid of the former Winter Soldier to get in his way.

As Bucky gets to the cells, he grabs an agent by the scruff and grinds out, “which cell?”

They all knew who he was talking about. Everyone would be talking about this for a while to come. The agent points into the open space of cells and stutters, “its, c-cell 203”.

Bucky drops the agent and stalks through the cells until he finally comes to 203. He steps into view with clenched fists and doesn’t pause before he asks, “why?”

You sit on the edge of the cot, elbows on knees, staring at the grey wall opposite. It takes you a moment to build up the courage to look at him. You never intended for this to happen. You never wanted to get feelings involved, but as you look at Bucky, you know it’s far too late for that now. Now you have a mess on your hands.

You debate how to play this. Do you keep up the contract killer façade or do you confess, tell him everything you’ve ever wanted to tell another human being before?

“Barnes, I should have known you would pay me a visit sooner rather than later.”

Bucky felt like you had struck him in the face with the way you addressed him, but he holds firm, “why?”

“Why what? I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific”, you reply coolly as you stand to face him.

Bucky changes his question, “is it true? Are you a contract killer?”

It takes you a few moments to keep the mask in place, “yes”.

You watch the pain flash across his features for the briefest of moments before he locks it away to be felt in private. It breaks your heart, but you’re so used to the feeling it never shows on your face.

Bucky goes to turn from you, wanting to get away, the sight of you too much to bear. You throw a question out into the void between you before he can retreat, “are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

Bucky never turns back to look at you, but he whispers, “was any of it ever real?”

Despite knowing this was the question, despite hearing it from a few people across your lifetime, it was the first time it ever hit you in the gut with such force you had to take a silent gulp of air before choking out, “no”.

He leaves without another word.

You wait a few days. Working out the routine of the place before you wait for your next move.

You wait with your back to a small portion of the concrete wall next to the cell door. A blind spot. And when the guard brings your food and slides it under the metal bars, he looks up to find you missing.

Just as he steps closer to look, you strike. You shoot your arms between the bars and pull so hard his head bangs into the metal and he crumples, out cold.

You drag is body parallel to the door and you sweep his body for keys. You start to lose hope when your hand flits over cool metal and a little jingle rings out.

You wait fifteen minutes until lights out and the use the keys. You drag the guard into the cell, swapping your uniforms before closing the door and locking him in. You check all your hair is tucked until the cap before heading for the locked door between freedom and your prison.

You rap on the metal with your heart beating furiously against your ribcage. But the door opens without a problem and you have to stop yourself from sprinting down the hall and up the stairwell.

Once you make it up one flight of stairs with no alarms raised you start to sprint. Before you leave, you have to make it back to your room for your go bag. You can’t leave it when it has all the information you need for what started this all off.

You run and run and run. You run until your lungs burn with a fire that’s been flowing in your veins since you were born. You run until your legs scream at you to stop and just when you don’t think you can take any more flights of stairs, you make it to the top.

You stop. Your hand on the handle, taking a moment to get your breathing under control. You push the handle down slowly and open the door a crack to find the hallway in darkness.

You slip through and creep on the tiles without a sound as you make it to the first spare room in the hall.

You get into the room no problem and let out a breath when you realise no one knows you used this room to stash your information.

You waste no time in grabbing your go back from the closet, checking everything you need is in there before heading for the door again. Three steps from the exit and alarms scream out, waking everyone from their slumber. The alarm is followed by a female robotic voice, “alert, alert, prisoner escape. Alert, alert, prisoner escape.”

You swear under your breath as you rush out the door to see Bucky, Natasha and Sam at the end of the hall, near the stairway. Your only exit.

They spot you seconds after you spot them, and you take off running in the opposite direction. You can’t afford a hand to hand with all three of them. As confident as you are in your abilities they have just as much, and you don’t want to hurt them.

They shout in your direction, but you ignore them as you unzip your bag and rummage around for a miracle. You get to the living space when you finally feel it and a flimsy plan comes to mind.

You turn, gun in both hands as you drop the go bag. Bucky, Natasha and Sam all creep into the room, guns pointed in your direction as yours is in theirs.

“There’s nowhere else to go now, Y/N,” Sam says in his calm way.

You hold firm, the sofas keeping the four of you apart. You look in Bucky’s direction as you talk, “things are more complicated than they seem. And I’m sorry you were caught up in it. I’m not a good person and I’ll get what I deserve, but I have something I need to do first.”

“And what’s that? Kills us?”, Nat asks.

You shake your head, still looking at Bucky, “If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it three times over. You’re not my mission.”

“Then give yourself up and explain.” Sam tries to reason.

You lower your gun slowly, “it would take too long, and you may never believe me. I can’t afford that, and I’ll never get a chance like this again.”

Bucky remains silent throughout the whole exchange, but you study each other the entire time. You try to convey that you lied earlier before reaching up your arm with lightning speed.

Two shots and the chandelier that Stark insisted on installing for the living room crashes in front of the three as you turn and shoot the glass window. As the glass spiderwebs, you drop the gun and run at full speed. You have a moment to acknowledge that throwing yourself from the top of the tower is the dumbest move you’ve ever made as the air rushes to greet you.

You twist with a hand in your pocket and throw upwards, watching and praying for your miracle to work as the rope and hook catches and you plummet.

You fall down the building on the rope watching the ground and unclip at the last second, rolling with the momentum as the impact jars through your bones.

Bucky couldn’t believe you threw yourself out the window. He was the first to recover, leaping over the lights and the sofa to dive head first after you. He digs his metal hand into the concrete and slides down after you.

He sees you roll and run immediately like the pro that you are and wastes no time pursuing you.

You dart between traffic and glance behind to see him behind you. You growl in frustration at the stubborn solider, having to change your plans once again as you head for the roads.

You instinctively feel Bucky gaining on you with the serum pumping through his veins so when you spot a cargo truck coming on the road below. You don’t hesitate to jump off the road you’re on and slam into the truck underneath.

Your lungs scream for the third time that night as all the air leaves them, but you pay no attention as you look up to find Bucky staring after you.

You walk in the quiet of the night, looking down at the folded piece of paper. You check you have the right address when the empty warehouse finally comes into view. You slip in without any problems and head over to the machine where you stashed more stuff.

Just as you go to reach for the bag you hear the click of a gun. You freeze. You turn slowly, with your hands visible and find yourself staring into the face of Bucky and the barrel of his gun.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and sigh, “how did you find me?”

“Please, do you really think I don’t know you after all this time? After our talk in the cells, I checked all the spare rooms. Found your go bag and the addresses. This was the closest one to the tower”, Bucky replies with an easy shrug.

You nod your head, “but if you found them, why did you leave them there? Why didn’t you tell anyone else?”.

“Tell me what’s going on, Y/N”, Bucky dodges the question.

You knew there was no other way out of this now. You had to tell him if you ever had a hope of getting this done tonight.

“Look, can you put the gun down-“

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. I can’t trust you.”

You pretend like his words don’t hurt, though they’re warranted, “okay, okay. Look, most of it is true. I am a contract killer. Long story short, I was born into a mob family. Mum died giving birth to me and left me and my older sister with my piece of shit father, the “use you as an ashtray type father”. At least he did with my sister. She took the brunt of his shit…anyway, when I turned 13 and had my first period, he sold me to a man. That man? Was the mob boss I know you saw me with, Joe Selene. I’ll skip passed all the torture and right to the part where he trained me as a contract killer for him and bided my time. My father had gone underground and with my limited access to resources I couldn’t find him.”

Bucky lowers the gun as you go through your story, his features softening at your tale of tragedy.

“I swore to my sister that I would come for her but I needed to gain the trust of Selene so I could get the resources to find my father. That was when he got involved with Hydra and they asked him to take you out. I agreed, knowing that you would have all the resources I needed to find my father and my sister.”

Bucky shakes his head, “why didn’t you tell me, us, any of this? We could have helped you.”

You look away from him, “because about a week after I got to the tower, I read my sisters name in the obituary. All the people I had killed to get to my sister was for nothing. She died alone, waiting for a rescue that never came and I knew…I knew that I was going to kill that bastard for everything that happened. I also knew that none of you would let me. You would reason about justice and doing things the right way. But I know what’s right and that’s that bastard six feet under and in hell.”

You look back up at Bucky to find him already watching you. You square your shoulders and jut your chin as you say, “so, you’re either with me or against me and so help me God, if you try to stop me from leaving this building and killing that piece of shit, I will not hesitate to put you down. I told you that you’re not my mission, but I will damn make sure nothing gets in the way.”

Bucky nods, “I’m in.”

You turn back to your bag and pull out the knives to strap around your body. You hand a few to Bucky and he takes them without a word.

As he turns to head back out of the warehouse you throw the question out again, “are you really going to leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

Bucky turns to look at you this time. He captures your eyes with his as he stares into your soul and whispers, “was any of it real?”

You reply without hesitation, “yes. Every single word.”

Bucky takes a few long strides before grabbing your face with his hands and crashing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. You return with the same ferocity, gripping his shirt in your fists to try and bring his body closer to yours.

When you can no longer breathe, you break the kiss. You both pant as Bucky brings his forehead down to meet yours. He whispers, “after we go drop a few bodies, what do you say we go take a trip. Just you and me?”

[kusagrasskusa]

Michael Myers X Murderer! Reader - Headcannons - "Death Card"

Also, thank you (Wattpad Person) for requesting this :) I know your the last request I got, so I prolly should have done someone else's request first, but your's was just easiest to find. (Also, I have it bad for Michael so )

Have fun reading this! I'm writing this on my laptop instead of computer so sorry if the formatting turns out worse than usual :/

Also...someone made fun of me for putting, "eight," and, "11," in the same sentence. I guess not many people know this, but anything under ten is supposed to be written out unless their fractions or decimals.

By the way, these basically aren't headcannons lol. It's just me wanting to write out a story but not being good enough to so I just write it down in simpler terms.

Enjoy~

Not only is Y/N just another famous murder who casually takes the lives of people, but she's amazing at hiding

..........until-

Y/N was an abusive home after her parents died when she was a toddler. Her aunt and uncle neglected her but karma came back at them when their car fell off a bridge, causing the pair to drown. The downside for the young Y/N was that she was put into a foster institution. And we all know by now that foster care are full of fights, drugs, weed, alcohol, and shitty employees.

As a young girl entering such a bad place, she was always a target. You know that sense of fear, worthlessness, and loneliness fucked with her head to where she felt lashing out felt great.

She would be unable to stop herself as she plunged a sharp object in and out of this prick that held her down for so long. But once she heard voices from other kids, she ran.

The story made headlines as the next big attack from yet another child. That's right, next. There was someone who inspired her to do what she did.

Of course, she always had that memory in the back of her head. That boy's violent actions filled her with immeasurable awe when she saw the news. However, she always had something more important to think about.

With so much dissatisfaction with her past, she could only fill herself up with adding things on to her in the present, and more in the future.

Y/N would steal Poker cards from people and always use the Ace of Spades to mark her kills by sliding the card into a wound. After all, betting games were the highlight of her day in the foster institution. She was always so good at it that it became her pride.

All these headlines and stories about how evil she is became such a big deal in her head. Such an overwhelming feeling of adrenaline every time she heard the name people would call her.

"The Death Card," is another name for Ace of Spades in most English countries. It was the perfect fit for Y/N.

(Ya'll, I feel like a fucking genius for coming up with that lol)

She was so good at hiding, truly. Kill someone in Kentucky, then move to Missouri. Killing someone there and move to Georgia, and so on.

Only in her hometown was she caught.

Michael was the one who started it all for her, as their same age and hometown made her feel connected to him, and finally where he got caught would be the same place she did.

14 years of hiding and killing led her to meeting him

Michael spent these 14 years sitting in complete silence. No talking, no humming, no singing, nothing. It's like he was always in his own world of thought, too busy in his imagination to interact with the real world.

Of course, there was times when he did pay attention to what's around him.

The news was the only thing he'd really pay close attention to. After all, what if something happens to Haddonfield while's he's stuck in there, and that causes plenty of people he once knew to move away?

But per usual, there was nothing about it

But there was something that caught his attention even by a little

"After 14 years, the notorious Death Card or Card of Death has finally been caught," says the Haddonfield Police Department. "While we're unsure of her motives thus far, we have been able to learn of who she is. Y/N L/N made the headlines once in 1980 at the age of eight as one of America's biggest crime cases with children as the culprit, having brutally stabbed a 15 year old boy. This happened just two years after the Michael Myers case, when a six year old boy stabbed his older sister in 1978. All else the HPD are saying is that her frantic behavior may lead her to a mental institution rather than letting her make legal decisions in court."

Michael paid attention to all the details of the report. For this report to be made about Haddonfield, chances are they'll be meeting each other soon.

The Death Card was a violent killer Michael heard of plenty of times however he never paid close attention to.

(Holy shit these are just headcannons so why am I writing long paragraphs)

He had to say, hearing about her violent stabbings were the highlight of his week. Even if he never felt strong about hearing other people having fun with their lives like she was, he couldn't help but almost feel pushed to do what she is. Living freely and ending those who cross his path...

Saying he was jealous or inspired would be a stretch though

He would spend his days painting paper mache masks while thinking of doing what she was for sure but he hated how she would show off by using those cards as if she didn't have a goal in mind, which was annoying to him. If you have nothing to live for, then kill yourself was his mindset.

Michael watched as Y/N stepped into court. He know hundreds- no thousands- of people watched as this woman of pure evil stepped into the courtroom. Her H/C hair flowed as she walked passed everyone, glaring at them with her cold E/C eyes.

A look of slight intrigue replaced his normal dull expression as he watched the girl stand up before the judge, smiling sassily at the cameras as to tell them to fuck off. Michael can recognize that look of intrusion on her face as she was practically interrogated. Clearly, she hated it there.

He watched contently as all the mystery surrounding the Card of Death was revealed to everyone in this world. Days went by of this court case before finally, she pled insanity. After all, she was known to have some underlying mental conditions as she remained so calm when talking about the varies of ways she would kill.

It's easy to see that many felt bad for the girl. Such trauma growing up led to the creation of this unfortunate human. But Michael? He didn't feel bad at all.

He never was sad or truly sympathetic however...he did feel pity. Somewhere in his soulless eyes held pity for this sad, sad girl he was soon to meet. Not exactly sympathy, but simply pity. And with that came respect.

The day that Y/N stepped foot into those doors was the day the two would meet for the very first times. Over 63 counts of first degree murder in 14 years led to the meeting of these two serial killers. At the time, they were both only 20.

Tables were scattered across the room with people talking or simply sitting alone by themselves on them. There was TV in a few different places around the room and board games in a couple of shelves. In the back of the large room was windows that showed the outside that felt so out of reach forever.

As the metal doors slammed behind her, she felt eyes on her immediately. Y/N slowly scanned the room as she gulped back the intense fear gathering in her stomach. Her lips parted open as she began to breath heavily and press her back on those metal doors.

She was so trapped and scared when she first entered that foster institution. She couldn't help but think of karma when her aunt would hurt her so badly for those five years before she died. But 63 murders are so much worse, so what could karma do to her to balance her evil deeds with punishment?

Laughter and giggled filled her ears as she shut her eyes tightly and covered her face with her arms. Her vision was going blurry; she was having a panic attack. Tears fell from her eyes as she whimpered quietly to herself.

She may be the Card of Death however she never had to be in a large group of people in so long.

Her body jerked as she was suddenly pulled away from those metal doors. She cried out when she saw a large man, around 6'7 (204cm), pull her away.

In just a few seconds, she was pulled to a metal table and forced to sit as the large man stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

Her body tensed unimaginably as they remained still for a few seconds, quiet aside from the occasional sobs of Y/N.

Then suddenly, the pressure on her shoulders disappeared. She heard nothing until the sound of creaking from the seat in front of her interrupted.

Y/N felt eyes on her. They were so intense over her.

A minute passed before her own eyes fluttered open, meeting the man's eyes in front of her.

A shiver ran down her spine when she came face to face with stone cold blue eyes that seemed to hold nothing within them. No light, no soul, and no sympathy. Not only that, but a orange mask made of paper mache covered the rest of his face as well.

The man tilted his head before lifting his hand onto the table, sliding something over to her. Y/N looked down at what he gave her.

"Don't speak. Write."

Michael had given her a paper with these words. His handwriting was hard to read considering he nearly never wrote anything so it took a moment before Y/N got the message. When she did, she looked back up at the man and nodded just a little so it was barely recognizable.

Obviously this conversation was to be secretive so she knew to barely show signs of interactions. The camera couldn't pick up on such a small nod to what evidence is there of them even interacting?

Michael slid the paper back to him and brought a pencil to the paper after erasing the original text. When he slid it back to her, it read, "Don't let anyone know what we say Y/N. They watch everything." When Y/N looked back up at him, she saw him dart his eyes from something behind her to something on the wall between them. She turned her head slightly to the side, noticing a camera on the wall. So she understood.

Michael had dropped on the pencil on the table, meaning it was her turn to reply. She erased the previous text before writing down, "Who are you? How do you know me?" When she slid it back, Michael took the pencil in his hand again.

"Michael Myers. I was a well known case two years before you. We heard a lot about you on TV."

"As in the boy who killed his sister at the age of six?"

"Yes. You know me?"

Y/N's eyes widened slightly as she frantically wrote down a reply. Without even noticing, the knot in her stomach had completely disappeared without a trace.

"I remember seeing your case. I thought about everyday."

Michael didn't reply immediately after reading. Instead, he waited a few minutes and stared down at the table. A look of confusion remained on Y/N's features as she impatiently waited. Then suddenly, Michael erased what was on the paper and simply drew a masked person looking somewhat like himself with a knife in his hand. He drew dead stick figures around it with blood splattering everywhere.

Michael knew that this picture would cover up all the eraser marks and writings that were still slightly visible. So when the guard that walked up behind Y/N without her knowing popped up, he didn't see any text.

Of course, this did lead to the paper being taken away. Then minutes after that, both of the pair was taken away.

If there's one thing as scary as analyzing The Shape and caring for him, it's that person who cares and analyzes him finding him interacting with someone else for the first time.

Whenever Y/N got sat down in her cell, she knew what was about to happen. She was sat down in her bed as a man she'd never seen before sat down in the chair that came with her little desk in her cell with a guard next to him.

Have you ever spoken to Michael? Are you related to him? How do you know him? How does he know you? Have you ever met his family? Why did he interact to you? Why was he drawing things for you? Does he like you? Does he hate you? Did he write to you? Did you hear him talk?

So many questions were asked by this Dr Loomis in such short amount of time. "No, no, I don't, no, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, no, no," and mostly these were your responses. No matter how many times Loomis asked, you dully replied.

You simply said he sat you down and you began to draw together, both filling in a piece of the drawing together.

And eventually, you got out.

Another day went by of "talking" to Michael.

And another.

And another.

The talks were nice and casual. What goes on in the asylum? What goes on in the outside? Who should I avoid? What's the reputation of the HPD?

Do you want to escape?

But it was only a matter of time before finally the two were friends.

Y/N was kinda just in her cell one night in bed. Then she just gasped and widened her eyes. Wait, are we friends? We're friends, right!

Michael already knew of their friendship like two weeks before she did. It felt so...wrong for him. He had always been alone and silent. How could someone like her even be so likeable to him? He didn't really understand it but he knew he hated it.

One day, the two were writing to each other per usual. Michael unintentionally added a pun in one of his comments, causing Y/N to giggle. Michael cocked his head to the side in confusion, strangely feeling heat rise his face and his heart speed up. It was air conditioned so he suspected he may have gotten sick.

Whenever the two had to go back to their cells, that feeling suddenly disappeared. Then it hit him. Oh fuck-

Hell, only a week later did Y/N feel herself experiencing the same symptoms. Michael notices that Y/N would shake and fidget a lot when they interacted, making him wonder of she was cold. As a friend, it was only right for him to sit next to her and hold her close to keep her warm, right? Y/N's face went red and damn that was embarrassing. But of course, that didn't mean Y/N wouldn't hug him back.

Eventually the two were basically cuddling. The two hugging each other warmly as Y/N rested her head on his chest, struggling to stay awake as they got more comfortable by the second.

But of course, Dr Loomis caught eye of that.

The doctor had been looking deep into al the interactions these two evil beings have had. They act so casual, so normal with each other, surely more than just drawing is happening between them, right?

The doctor had pulled them into his office separately to interrogate them. While Y/N bluntly answered his questions to make him just shut up as quickly as possible, she couldn't help but think to herself. She knows that she and Michael are mentally ill, but he should definitely be fixed by now. He's smart and creative and can casually talk to people, so it's like the only thing keeping him here is that the doctors are so ill-equipped that they can't make the necessary breakthrough to save him.

Of course, just a month later, another incident happened like this. Y/N was having a bad migraine so Michael got her to just sit down and wait for him during lunch. He brought over two trays of food for them and was sure to trade with Y/N so she can eat the things she likes and he could have the things she dislikes.

Another time, a bipolar guy ran into Michael and shoved him as if it was his fault. Michael shoved him back instinctively, causing a fight to disperse between the two. As security guards took notice, Y/N was quick to push Michael away softly and ball a fist to punch the fuck out of that guy- like a, "YO WHATCHU SAY ABOUT MY MAN?" type shit. Y/N did this to seem like she was hitting back and that Michael hadn't done anything wrong.

And when each other's birthday's rolled around, they had their own celebration. Y/N was given her own paper mache mask as a gift and a small cupcake from the cafe. Michael was given stolen art supplies that were taken from other guests and also a cupcake.

Y/N slowly stopped having panic attacks, but she definitely had her moments. Of course, Michael sat with her through it.

Dr Loomis recorded all this shit so he can gather data on Michael. Then the question hit him: How would Michael react if Y/N was gone for a few days? Does he truly care about her or is he just using her?

If you think Michael hated Loomis before, wait til he pieced together the disappearance of girlfriend and the extensive eyesight on him from security guards. For the hell he raised about it, he had to get sterilized and put into a cell without being able to get out for a few days.

Y/N remained bored in her cell for days. So what better could she do than annoy the guard watching her? She would just talk nonstop for what felt like hours and hours. The dude watching her was just getting more pissed off by the second.

"Would you shut up? Crazy bitch," he hissed, hitting the cell door. Y/N giggled cockily, shaking her head. Even if she deserved to be yelled at for continuing to talk, the Card of Death refused to back down. But when the guard went inside her cell and locked the door behind him, she got a bit worried.

Y/N got off her bed and threatened him cockily, to which he responded with physical force.

Of course, Smith's Groove is ill-equipped so even with proof of being hit and tazed, Y/N couldn't do anything to get the guard fired. But Michael?

A full month without seeing each other was like a slow suicide. But when they finally got to see each other again, the two was sure to write so much about their time alone as if they were teenage friends discussing their fun weekends. However, things turned dark whenever Y/N brought up the guard.

Michael didn't show any emotions at all, no matter what happens. But Y/N learned to guess how he's feeling depending on how long he takes to respond. Slowed blinking as if he was in thought, and slower reading as got analyze her writing closer were typically bad signs.

About a year had passed since they met at this time. A year to plan to escape. By now, the two were both 21 and fully prepared to leave once and for all.

Whenever that security guard had walked passed Michael's cell one night, Michael had knocked on the door to signal him. Michael slipped a paper through the doorslot, as he was given paper since he doesn't talk, saying he found a dead mouse in his cell. The guard just huffed and let himself inside. Michael pointed to where the mouse supposedly was; and that was a mistake for the guard.

Right as that guard went to look, Michael got behind and covered his mouth before stabbing him in the neck with a paint brush that's but carved into a small blade. Within moments, the guard dropped dead onto the floor.

Taking the keys from the guard, Michael was able to let out nearly every single prisoner to this hell out of their cells. Including Y/N.

The world sister was the only thing left of the pair as it was engraved into the door of Michael's cell. And just like that, the two were gone.

How they got there so fast doesn't matter but eventually Y/N and Michael found an abandoned house to station at until the search around the area disappeared and they could move around quicker.

"I can't fucking believe it," Y/N cheered as she felt tears run down her face from happiness. She swayed across the room, taking in the smell of dust and air. Even something dirty felt so new to her that couldn't help but love it at the moment.

Michael would watch her as he sat down in an old wooden chair, cocking his head. His body was in complete shock as the realization of all that's happened in the past years came crashing down on him. This was the real world? This is what dust smells like? This is what shattered glass and broken wood looks like? This is what trees look like up close? This is what things look like without glass tinting the color?

This is what it feels like to celebrate with someone you love? Michael reminded himself that the girl in front of him changed his life so much. His urge to harm all around him was always so strong, but the thought of her being hurt felt a bad taste in his mouth.

He stood up from the chair, walking towards the ecstatic girl as she cried happily to herself and picked up random things to remind herself of what they feel like and all she takes for granted. She turned her head to him, smiling, "Michael, look, I found a-"

Y/N gasped as Michael gripped his mask and slowly moved it. Y/N watched in awe as for the first time, she saw her only friend in this world's real face. That pale skin and soulless eyes that she grew familiar with became so new to her again.

"Michael..." she whispered, stepping closer to him. Her face heated up as she felt the weight his eyes staring down at her. She lightly bit her lip, a shiver going down her spine.

He took a few steps closer as well, making the two remain inches away from each other. Now at this point, Y/N is questioning if Michael is gonna kill her or is gonna kiss her as he awkwardly put his hand to her cheek, brushing her hair away. She leaned her head into his hand, keeping eye contact with him the whole time.

In just a matter of moments, the two came together in a soft kiss. The moment was quiet as the two did their best to remain calm and together as this moment that was little way's overdue continued.

When the two pulled away, Y/N was quick to wrap her arms around him. Now she wasn't going to cry about it, but damn was that contact she needed so badly. The Death Card and The Shape were basically Yin and Yang with how one is emotional and the other in emotionless but their need for pain and each other is what kept it healthy.

Just imagine how much suffering families went through since the two got out.